Murder on Baker Street
by Maccity
Summary: A murder was committed at Baker Street, right under Sherlock's nose. Now he needs to help Lestrad to find out who the victim was, what he was doing on Sherlock's doorsteps in the middle of the night and race to find the murder, especially when, in the middle of the investigation, John goes missing.
1. Chapter 1

**Note: **Set on season 2, some time before The Reichenbach Fall, but in this story Sherlock was already warned to not interfere on Scontland Yard's investigations. And John Watson works as a doctor at Bart Hospital, besides helping Sherlock on his investigations.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock, nor Stephen King's works, since I may have included some reference to one of his books.

**Warnings:** Violence.

* * *

**Prologue**

The lights were off in 221B Baker Street that night. The two weird guys that lived there were probably fast asleep. The man in the corner lit another cigarette with the butt of the previous one and waited, standing in the shadows, looking up to the windows on the second floor of the building across the street. He checked his watch again – it was quarter past two in the morning.

A car turned the corner and sped down the otherwise deserted street, probably going home from one of the many pubs in the neighborhoods. The man stepped deeper into the shadows, hiding from the car. "Fifteen more minutes", he thought.

He stuffed his gloved hands into his Armani new collection black jacket and took a gun from one pocket and a silencer from the other. He checked the gun's load and, with slightly trembling hands, he attached the silencer to the gun. He threw the cigarette on the pavement, stepping into it with the sole of his loafers, and took one last look on his surroundings, checking for any prying eyes.

"It's time," he thought and took a few steps from the shadows heading to the building across the street, but then he hesitated. He looked back to the spot where he was the last couple of hours and saw the number of cigarette butts lying on the floor. He kneeled on the dirty floor and collected all the cigarette butts, sticking them into his pocket. Satisfied with himself, he quickly crossed the street, stopping in front of the door. He checked the lock and tried to open the door. It was locked.

He pointed the gun to the lock preparing to shoot, when suddenly he felt an excruciating pain in the back of his head. His vision blurred and he fell to the ground. His instincts kicked in and he rolled on his back facing a man in a hood hovering above him with some kind of self defense weapon in his hand. He begun to raise his gun but the man kicked his hand hard, sending his gun into the street and totally out of reach. He tried to stand, but was kicked in his ribs, all air being expulsed from his lungs. He turned into his stomach and tried to crawl to his gun, but it was too far. The man in the hood grabbed him by his black curly hair pulling him to a kneeling position and whispering into his ear "I think it's time for you to regret all your sins."

He received a knee to the gut and his hair was released. He bent over from the pain, his eyes watering, but forced himself to maintain the man on his line of vision. He saw the man heading for the gun, with deliberately slow paces. He had to act quickly. With his arms around his stomach, he stood and run to the opposite direction as fast as he could. He threw himself behind a car that was parked on the street and waited, hearing footsteps slowly getting closer. He started to round the car trying to guess what side the man would appear, looking for something he could use to defend himself. He saw a trash can next to the post nearby, where what seemed to be a beer bottle was showing its neck amongst other garbage. With all his willpower he run the few steps to the trash can and grabbed the bottle, throwing himself back to the protection of the car as fast as he could, but he wasn't fast enough. A gun shot hit him on his left leg. The surprise of being shot was so unexpected, that he didn't even felt the pain for some time. But when he tried to get up he couldn't. He saw the blood pouring through his black slacks, and with his left hand he tried to put pressure to the wound, the other hand holding tightly to the bottle. The man in the hood was rounding the car. He laid down on the ground and rolled over under the car, crawling to the other side, on the street. If he hadn't been shot he could try to run or to fight, using the glass as a weapon. But hurt, he knew he couldn't stand a chance, so he tried to beg and bargain.

"Please can we talk? We can solve this. I have money. Tell me your price." He tried hard to think of something that could buy him some time.

The man moved in his slowly annoyingly pace until he was in front of him, pointing the gun to his head. "I'm sorry, buddy," he said with a smirk, "but that's not an option. Do you have any last words or something? Maybe you want to say a pray?"

"The only thing I have to say is that you are going to regret killing me here. You don't know the big mistake you would be doing."

"Is that supposed to scare me? Nice try." Then he shot the kneeling man to the head, threw the gun next to the body, and started walking down the street, in his slow slightly dancing pace, like he didn't have a care in the world.

**Chapter 1**

Dr. John Watson woke up early that Sunday morning. He was a man very diligent and zealous with his morning routine. Maybe it was the influence of his years as a doctor in the army. Everything had to be perfectly done in the proper time. It doesn't matter if it was weekday or a weekend. He got up from his bed at half past six, took a quick shower, shaved, brushed his teeth and changed his clothes into a button up white shirt, black pants and a thick jacquard sweater, since it was very cold. He made his bed military style and put on his perfectly polished shoes. Then he took a look at himself in his bathroom mirror. A middle aged blond guy in need of a haircut looked back to him. He tried to comb his hair the best as he could, then he checked his watch. It was seven o'clock. Perfect!

He headed to the kitchen to make coffee and saw that Sherlock had yet to get up. He started the coffee machine, and tried to ignore all the laboratory flasks and equipments that were all over their kitchen, some of them with weird substances that smelled very funny. He opened the fridge looking for some milk, but the milk carton was empty. "Well, that's Sherlock. He always forgets to buy groceries when it's his time to do it." He said to himself.

When he first moved to 221B Baker Street, John used to get really mad with all the eccentricities of his friend. Now, after some years living with him, he has learned to ignore them, on behalf of his own mental sanity. So he pushed some flasks to the side, clearing a spot on the table where he could have his cup of coffee, and maybe some milkless cereal. He grabbed yesterday's newspaper from the counter and started reading, sipping his steaming hot coffee. He was halfway through the police report when he felt his cell phone vibrating. He picked it up from his pocket and saw he'd got a text from Sherlock. "Sherlock is not home?" He thought to himself.

**Sherlock:** John, are you home?

**John:** Yes. Where are you?

**Sherlock:** John, I need you to do me a favor. It's urgent.

**John: **What favor?

**Sherlock:** Go to the kitchen. Open the first drawer in the cabinet and see if you find a blue box with a golden label on it.

**John:** OK, but where are you? You didn't come home last night? Or did you leave early this morning?

**Sherlock:** John, the box! It's urgent!

**John:** OK! OK!

He opened the drawer where they used to keep the cutlery. After some searching, messing all the items inside the drawer, he finally found a little blue box.

**John:** OK, I've found it. Now what?

**Sherlock:** Open it.

**John:** That's a red marker...

**Sherlock:** Bring it to me here in my bedroom. Quick!

**John:** What? Are you in your bedroom this whole time? Why didn't you came here and got it yourself?

"John, hurry up!" Sherlock screamed from his bedroom.

"You are unbelievable!" He screamed back, heading to Sherlock's bedroom.

"And what the marker was doing in the cutlery drawer?" He asked as he opened Sherlock's bedroom door. Sherlock was in his robe, pacing in front of a London map hanging from his wall, with several colored pins on it, pointing various locations of the city.

"What are you doing?" John asked curiously.

"What do you think I'm doing? I'm working on a case. And I'm out of red pins. I thought I could use a red marker instead." Sherlock said grabbing the marker from his hand and immediately marking points to the map.

"Do you have a client? I thought you didn't have a client for weeks. Especially after Lestrad was forbidden to ask for your help with the Scotland Yard cases."

"The janitor in Bart Hospital asked me to help him solve a mystery. These drawings have been appearing in various locations of the city. One of them was painted on his front door." He showed John a photo of a graffitied wall. The drawing was some kind of a logo with a skull on it. "This is the same drawing a group of American criminals from Chicago used to paint in their enemies' houses, to warn them that they were next in their murder list, in the late seventies."

"Maybe it's just some kid playing around." John said, giving him back the photo and turning to leave the room.

"Where are you going? You are not going to discuss this case with me?" Sherlock asked.

"It's not a case, Sherlock. Besides I need to go out for a walk." He said, grabbing the handle and opening the door.

"Maybe it's not a case yet. But it's very interesting." Sherlock murmured to himself. "Ah, John?" He said louder.

"Yes?"

"Can you buy us some groceries in your way back home? We are out of milk."

He didn't bother to answer that. John took his coat from its hanger, went down the stairs and out to the cool morning breeze. He turned left and started walking, heading to the park on Paddington Street, when he noticed a police car parked a couple of houses ahead, blocking the street. There were police officers near a black car and some people around, prevented to getting closer by a tape where could be read the words "Police – Do not cross".

John approached the restricted area to take a look, and saw a body on the street near to the car. Blood could be seen on the ground and a gun was lying on the street, next to the body.

"Hey," he screamed to one of the police officers. "I'm a doctor. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Hey!" said one of the officers approaching him. "You are Dr. Walsh, aren't you? Sherlock's roommate?"

"Yeah, that's me. But it's Dr. Watson, actually." John said.

"Hi! My name is Paul." The officer said, shaking John's hand. "That's nothing you can do. The man is dead. We're waiting for the forensics and Detective Inspector Lestrad to come over."

"It was a murder?" John asked trying to take a look to the body.

"Looks like it. A shot to the head, as you can see. The gun is still there. What kind of killer leaves a gun behind?"

"The kind that doesn't fear being caught." John said looking at the gun, noticing the silencer attached to it.

"Or maybe he did it himself? A suicide?" The officer asked.

John looked to the body that was lying down on his back, slightly turned on his right side. He saw a gunshot wound in the middle of his forehead.

"I don't believe it, since the wound is in the center of his forehead. It would be difficult for someone to shot himself in that place. Besides, that silencer would make it much more difficult. If someone is going to shoot himself, is more likely the wound to be on his right temple, if he is right-handed, or on his left temple, if he is left-handed."

"Well, you seem to know a lot about crimes and stuff." The officer said impressed.

"I live with Sherlock. What would you expect?" John said, picking up his cell phone from his pocket.

"Excuse me." He said to the officer and dialed Sherlock's number, but before pressing call, he thought better. Sherlock was really entertained with his new "case". So he would probably just ignore the call. But if John sent a text, he might answer, since he said himself that he preferred to text.

**John:** Sherlock are you home?

**Sherlock:** Obviously.

**John:** Can you do me a favor?

**Sherlock:** What?

**John:** Go to the living room and look through the window.

**Sherlock:** Very funny…

**John:** I'm serious! Go now. You're not going to regret.

**Sherlock:** John, I'm busy right now. Stop texting me.

**John:** And if I tell you that there was a murder in our street? Right under your nose?

**John:** Sherlock?

John looked up to the windows of their apartment and saw Sherlock looking down. He saw him withdrawing from the window, texting something on his cell phone. Then John's felt his cell phone vibrating.

**Sherlock:** I'm coming down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes: **Thank you for reading! Here's a new chapter. Not betaed. All errors are mine. But if you see something wrong, you can tell me so I can fix it!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock, nor Stephen King's works, since I may have included some reference to one of his books somewhere within the story.

**Warning:** Crime scene and dead body description.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

From his spot on the crime scene, John saw Sherlock leave their building the same time ID Lestrad's car parked next to him, across the street. He saw Lestrad and Sherlock shake hands, and then they walked to the crime scene to meet him.

"Hi, John." Lestrad said shaking his hand. "A murder on Baker Street? Who'd have thought it possible?" Lestrad asked with a look of disbelief on his face.

"I hope it's not another master criminal trying to get Sherlock's attention." John said, not yet recovered from the events of "The Great Game" case, when Moriarty tried to blow him up.

"Did you two hear something last night?" Lestrad asked.

"I got home from the hospital at 10 PM. I don't remember anything different. I slept early, not even wrote on my blog last night. I was too tired. I didn't hear anything." John said.

"What about you?" He asked Sherlock.

"Well, that car was already parked there when I arrived. It was nearly midnight." Sherlock pointed to the car next to the body. "A group of drunken kids were near this house discussing." Sherlock pointed to the house directly in front of the crime scene. "They were two boys and two girls. But I guess they came to an agreement, since they entered the house giggling. A couple was snogging on that coffee shop over there." Sherlock pointed to a coffee shop across the street, with some tables outside. "The waiter was looking at them very angrily, since that coffee shop closes at midnight. Their usual clientele are people from the pubs. They stop there for a cup of coffee to sober up before going home. I only saw that couple, but it is possible that there were other costumers inside."

Sherlock looked around trying to remember if there was anything else. "And there was someone smoking in that corner, but I don't know if it was a man or a woman, since I only could see the light from the cigarette." Sherlock concluded with a nonchalant face.

"John was in the hospital. Would you mind if I ask where were you last night?" Lestrad asked Sherlock, who raised his eyebrow.

"Am I a suspect?" He asked, amused.

"Of course not. It's just a routine question. You know that." Lestrad said.

"I was taking some pictures of graffitied walls all over London. You can ask Mr. Walter, the janitor from Bart Hospital. He was with me."

"It's not necessary. It's just a routine question. Let's see the body." Lestrad pulled the tape up for them to pass.

They bent over and passed under the blocking tape, heading to an officer that was handing latex gloves. They all took a pair and waited for the forensics to finish taking pictures of the scene. John noted another gunshot wound on the victim's left leg. The victim's body was laying down on his back, slightly turned on his right side, while the car was behind him. After the photo shoot was finished, Lestrad had a quick chat with the forensic officer in charge who nodded allowing them to approach the body.

"Is he one of the drunken guys you saw last night?" Lestrad asked, approaching the body and putting his gloves on.

"Certainly not. This guy is older and far too well dressed." Sherlock answered.

"Maybe he was trying to get into his car when he was shot?" John said, looking for any sign of keys near the body and noticing that the gun had already been taken by the forensics.

"Don't jump too fast into conclusions, John. You know that first we need to find the clues, we need to know the facts and then we can build theories." Sherlock answered, kneeling near the body to take a better look. "Man, late thirties to early forties, black curly hair, olive skin, blue eyes." They all looked at the man's eyes that were open, but without a sign of life. "Handsome." He added, as an afterthought.

Sherlock got up and observed the scene from several diferent angles. Walking around the car, he took a look on the sorroundings, noticing everything that was near the crime scene. He saw a trash can on the sidewalk and aproached to take a look on its contents. Some of the trash had fallen to the floor. He walked back to the car and kneeled to look under the car.

"There's a broken beer bottle under the car, behind the tire." Sherlock said, and the forensic officer kneeled beside him to see.

While the officer went to get the bottle, Sherlock turned his attention back to the body. Kneeling besid the victim's body, he shoved his gloved hand inside one pocket of the man's jacket. From the pocket he took out a dozen cigarette butts. He looked at them on his hand, intrigued.

"Cigarette butts in his pocket? Seriously?" Lestrad said surprised. "I've never heard of someone so worried with the city cleanliness, that they would put trash inside their own pockets!" He joked.

Sherlock put the cigarette butts in a bag labeled with the word "Evidence" in red capital letters, which Lestrad held open for him.

"The victim was a smoker. See these yellow stains between his forefinger and middle finger?" Sherlock said, holding the dead man's right hand on his own. "They are nicotine stains. He also smells like cigarettes. But what we need to know right now is if these cigarette butts are from the victim himself or someone else." Sherlock said, pointing to the bag with the cigarette butts.

"We'll have to wait for the DNA test." Lestrad said, giving the bag to one of the forensic officers.

"Let me know as soon as you get the results."

"Sherlock, you know I can't ask for your help with the cases anymore, much less share information with you. If my boss even knows you're here examining the crime scene and touching the body, my job would be in danger." Lestrad said worried.

"So, don't tell him." Sherlock answered unconcerned, while he examined the victim's left hand, which was stained with blood, looking for any sign of injury and finding none.

"His right hand is clean, while his left hand is stained with blood. I think he tried to stop the bleeding on his left leg with his left hand. But he is right-handed, so the question is: why he used his left hand instead of his right hand or even both hands to stop the bleeding? He would be able to put much more pressure on the wound this way. Was his right hand hurting? Was he holding something?" He said thoughtfully.

"How do you know he is right-handed?" Lestrad asked and received a glare from Sherlock.

"The nicotine marks on his right hand?" John asked.

"Obviously. He was a smoker and he used mostly his right hand to hold the cigarette, as we can see by the nicotine stains. Although a smoker can use the other hand to hold the cigarette while doing some other task, like writing, normally the nicotine stains are good indicator if the person is right or left-handed."

Sherlock dropped the hand and resumed the searching on the victim's pockets. On the victim's breast pocket he found a wallet and inside the wallet, he found £2.500 in cash.

"This is the only content of the wallet." Sherlock said, putting the wallet into another plastic bag. "So, he has money in his wallet, but no cards, no keys, no cell phone, no ID. What does that tell us?" He asked.

"It sure wasn't a robbery." Lestrad said.

"A thief wouldn't have left behind that amount of money. It was probably an execution. But were his cards, cell phone and ID took by the killer?" Sherlock asked.

"Why would the killer take the wallet out of the victim's pocket, take his cards and ID, then put the wallet with £2.500 in cash back into his pocket? That doesn't make any sense." John said.

"Exactly, John. So it is safe to assume that the victim wasn't carrying IDs with him. He didn't want to be identified." Sherlock answered.

"Is he a criminal too? It's not normal to walk around with 2.500 pounds in your pocket." Lestrad observed.

"You said the killer left the gun behind?" Sherlock asked.

"Paul, the first officer to get to the crime scene, told me the killer left the gun near the body." Lestrad said looking for Paul, who was near the tape, talking to some guy.

"The gun was here." John showed them the position, right in front of the body. "It was a Glock 19 with a silencer attached to it".

Sherlock was examining the body again, taking out the man's belongings and putting them into plastic bags. From the man's right hand he took an expensive engagement ring. Sherlock looked inside the ring, where a name was engraved. "Abelia? It's not a common name." He put the ring into the bag. "Lestrad, hold this for me."

He handed the bag to Lestrad, who held it while Sherlock picked up his cell phone from his pocket and took pictures of the ring inside the bag. When he was satisfied he resumed the searching, removing the man's watch. "A Rolex."

Sherlock examined the man's clothes. He pulled the jacket collar to see the label. Armani. He noticed bruises on the back of the man's neck. He picked up his cell phone again and googled "Armani". He accessed the page and run through the jackets, looking for one that matched the one on the victim's body.

"Someone may know this man. He's probably wealthy. This is an Armani Jacket that costs US$ 1.979." He showed his cell phone screen to Lestrad and John. "Look at his watch and the ring. They are expensive too. His nails are well cared. Even the perfume he's wearing seems to be expensive." Sherlock looked to the man's feet. "Well that doesn't make sense." He said.

"What?" John and Lestrad asked in unison.

"His loafers don't match." Sherlock said intrigued.

Lestrad removed one of the shoes and saw the label. "These are Gucci loafers. They are expensive too."

"Yeah, but they are too used. Not cared for. The sole is too thin, like he had been overusing it. A man who cares for his appearance like this one obviously did, wouldn't use those shoes." Sherlock said, taking the shoe from Lestrad's hands to take a better look, then passing it to John.

"And he has bruises on his neck." Sherlock said, opening the buttons of the man's shirt, looking for more bruises. "It looks like he was beaten. His ribs are bruised."

"So, there was a fight first? There are no defensive wounds on his hands." Lestrad pointed.

"Maybe he was surprised by the killer. Maybe the killer overpowered him and he didn't stand a chance." John conjectured thoughtfully.

Paul came to them, with a notepad and a pen in his hands. "Sir, we've found the owner of the car. A young man named Ted told us that this car belongs to him. He parked here yesterday. He was with a couple of friends and his girlfriend. Do you want to talk to him?

"Sure". Lestrad and Paul headed to the spot where Ted was waiting, near the tape.

"So this is not the victim's car." John observed. "And where is his car? It doesn't look like he usually takes the bus or the subway."

"Maybe he took a cab. Maybe he lived here in the neighborhood. Or maybe he'd been walking a lot lately, judging by the state of his shoes." Sherlock said thoughtfully. "We really need to identify this body. I don't think it's going to be that difficult."

"Well, we'll have to wait the forensics do the body identification." John said.

"I don't have time for this. Let's go, John. Let's take a cab." Sherlock said, getting up and taking his gloves off.

"Where are we going?" John asked, running after Sherlock, who was already heading to the cross street to take a cab.

"We are going to find out who this man is."

* * *

**Next chapter: **Sherlock investigations lead him and John to the victim's house, where they finally get to meet the mysterious Abelia.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes: **Thank you so much for the messages, reviews and for reading!

Not betaed. All errors are mine. But if you see something wrong, you can tell me so I can fix it on the next update.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock, nor Stephen King's works, since I may have included some reference to one of his books somewhere within the story.

No warnings on this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Abelia got up from the sofa and started pacing. She was too nervous to sit still, and had already managed to drop her cell phone twice. She looked at the screen of her cell phone again. Nothing. No calls, no text messages, no news.

"Sit down, dear. You're making me nervous." An elegant old lady said from an armchair next to the window, on the corner of the living room. "Besides, it's not good for the baby. You have to calm down. You know they say that unborn babies can feel their mother's distress? And this interferes with the babies' health?" The old lady said, adjusting her glasses, and working her crochet stitches.

"Jimmy said he would call me as soon as he had some news. I didn't hear from him since yesterday!" She said, while texting her brother "any news?" and pressing 'send', on her cell phone.

"Your brother will call when he finds anything, don't worry." The old lady said, looking through the window, when a black car parked in front of her house. "George got home early", she thought to herself.

"And you don't have to worry about your grandson, Mrs. Anderson. I'm sure he's not capable of feeling anything yet." Abelia said, still pacing.

"They say the first 12 weeks are the most critical. And please don't call him my grandson! You don't know if it's a boy, yet! It could be my granddaughter!" The old lady put down her handwork on the table beside the armchair and took off her glasses.

"I have this felling that it's a boy." Abelia said, stroking her belly.

The old lady raised her arms. "Come here, dear. Come sit next to me."

Abelia headed to the corner of the big living room where Mrs. Anderson was sitting. Taking her hands, she sat down on the matching armchair, on the other side of the window, with the round side table between them.

Abelia loved this living room. It was big and airy. Now, the room was brightly illuminated by natural afternoon light, coming from the many windows disposed on both right and left sides of the room, and filtered by the beige curtains. It was beautifully decorated with classical furniture, with a fireplace and a mantelpiece, where an antique clock and two candlesticks were disposed. A big comfortable sofa was located opposite to the mantelpiece, with two smaller sofas on each side. Some upholstered armchairs and classical chairs were disposed next to round side tables by the windows, or next to a chess table.

"I'm scared too, darling, but we need to have hope. We have to be strong and of good courage. 'Do not be afraid, nor be dismay, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go'. It says so in Joshua 1:9." The old lady quoted the Bible verse.

Abelia looked Mrs. Anderson in the eyes. She had beautiful ocean-blue eyes like her son. She saw that her future mother-in-law really believed her son would be OK. She believed God would hear her prayers and He would take care of him. Abelia herself didn't believe in God. And she knew people could be really evil.

"I wish I could believe your God, Mrs. Anderson." She said. "It's been almost a week since I last talked to David." Tears threatened to fall down her face and she quickly wiped them away.

They both turned to the double door, where an old man had just entered.

"Any news?" He asked both women.

"Nothing yet, honey." Mrs. Anderson answered.

"OK. That's it. I'm calling the police." Mr. Anderson said picking up his cell phone from his pocket.

"Please Mr. Anderson! David begged us not to! He said he would take care of this!" Abelia pleaded, getting up from the armchair, heading to him and holding his hand preventing him from making the call.

"My son is missing! Someone is trying to kill him and here we are doing nothing!" Mr. Anderson said angry and frustrated.

"We are doing something, darling. Abelia's brother knows people, he will ask, he will find something. Please be patient." Mrs. Anderson said from her armchair.

Mrs. Anderson looked at her husband. She had always been proud of her husband's appearance. George was always well dressed, independent of the occasion and, despite his age, he was very jovial and fun. But now that seemed to have changed. Her husband had aged years in a few weeks. He lost weight and he looked too tired.

"Honey, do you want a cup of tea? I can have Matt to bring one for you."

"I can't drink. I can't eat. I can't sleep." Mr. Anderson said defeated.

Abelia held him tight, trying to give him strength she herself didn't have.

They all heard the door bell ring. Mrs. Anderson looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was four o'clock in the afternoon. It was too early for the boy from the supermarket to deliver their groceries. She looked through the window and saw a taxicab parked behind George's car, but she couldn't see who was at the door from her spot by the window. She felt a cold fear grow in the pit of her stomach and looked at her husband who had the same fear in his eyes.

Matt, the butler, appeared on the double door. "A man named Sherlock is at the door. He wants to talk to you about David. And he says that it's urgent."

* * *

"Sherlock, we can't simply show up at this family's house and announce that their son is dead. We are not from the police." John tried to reason. John was exhausted and hungry. After they left the crime scene that morning, they visited about ten of the top quality jewelry store in London. According to Sherlock, the engagement ring they had found on the victim's body was unique, custom-made and expensive. The man probably chose the best jewelry shop in London and ordered the best ring they could make. This added to the fact that the fiancée's name was not common, Sherlock was certain that they would find someone who would remember the costumer and would give them the information they needed.

"OK, Sherlock good one." John had said. "But some shops have many jewelry designers. How do we know we are talking to the right one?"

"That man would not be attended by any designer. We have to talk to the managers."

And Sherlock was right once more. After visiting so many shops, getting in and out of taxis, taking the subway and walking miles, they had almost given up, thinking that maybe the man had ordered the ring from some shop outside London.

While they were eating fast food on the street, after John had begged and threatened Sherlock's life, since he was almost passing out from the lack of food in his system, they spotted a new Italian jewelry store that had opened not too long ago. Sherlock got excited and threw his and John's half eaten sandwich away, taking John's hand and running to the shop. The manager on the jewelry store recognized the ring and the name engraved.

"Yes, I recognize this ring." The manager had said, looking to the photo on Sherlock's screen phone. "It is one of our most beautiful works. Are you two getting married too? I can't sell this model to you because it's exclusive, but I can design another ring as beautiful as this one."

"No, we are not a couple!" John had said annoyed at having to explain this again.

"We need the name of the man who bought this ring. And his address." Sherlock had said, businesslike.

"I'm sorry, but I can't reveal information from our customers." The manager had said, impassive.

"My name is Mycroft Holmes." Sherlock had said in a very commanding voice, showing Mycroft's ID. "As you can see, I work for the government. The man who bought this ring is in grave danger and it is imperative that we find him immediately. So, you have two choices. One, you give me the information I need and I'll do my job of saving this man's life so he can keep buying expensive rings in your lovely store, or two, you don't give me the information I need and I'll have to call my friends from the British Secret Service asking for their help with a stubborn witness. While we wait for them, the man dies and he'll never be able to spend one cent of his money here again. It's your choice."

John tried to keep any sign of surprise with the bunch of lies that was falling from Sherlock's mouth from reach his expression and looked at the man with the same hard look Sherlock was giving him. The man was so shocked that he didn't questioned anything and started telling everything he knew about his costumer.

And that's how they managed to get to the front door of the Anderson's manor, located in an elegant neighborhood in North West London.

A middle aged man in uniform opened the door. "How can I help you, sir?"

"We need to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. Are they home?" Sherlock asked.

"Who shall I announce?" The man in uniform said, politely.

"Sherlock Holmes. I need to talk about their son, David Anderson. It's urgent."

"Wait here please. I'm going to see if someone is available." The man said, leaving them on the porch.

"Did you hear what I said? We can't just tell them their son is dead." John said again.

"Don't worry, I called Lestrad. He is coming. Meanwhile we're going to try and find out something about this family."

They were led to a beautiful living room, where an old couple and a young woman were standing.

"My name is Sherlock Homes and this is Dr. John Watson. You must be David Anderson's family." Sherlock said shaking George's hand.

"I'm his father, George." Mr. Anderson introduced himself. "This is my wife Elisabeth Anderson and this is Abelia, his fiancée."

"Mr. Anderson, we need to ask you a few questions about your son, David Anderson." Sherlock said.

"Who are you again?" George asked.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes. I'm a consulting detective. I helped Scotland Yard solve some cases, like the arrest of Peter Ricolet, the number one on the Interpol list."

"I remember that. It was all over the newspapers. You are the detective that uses that silly hat aren't you?" George asked.

Sherlock looked disgusted by the comment.

"Why are you here? Why do you want to know about my son?" George asked genuinely interested.

"I have reasons to believe that he was trying to contact me but he ..., he didn't manage."

"What?" They all asked surprised, including John, that didn't have a clue on what Sherlock was talking about.

"Do you know why is he trying to contact a detective?" Sherlock asked. John noticed Sherlock's use of the present tense, as if David was still alive.

The family looked at each other as if deciding what they could tell.

Finally Mrs. Anderson decided to interfere. "Let's sit down, shall we? Matt, would you be kind and bring us some tea, darling?"

Matt nodded, leaving the room. Sherlock and John sat on the big couch, Mrs. and Mr. Anderson sat in one of the smaller sofas and Abelia sat on the other.

"My son is missing and we were going to call the police." Mr. Anderson said.

"How long he's been missing?" Sherlock asked.

"We haven't seen him since last month, but the last time we heard from him was last Monday. He called Abelia and told her he was OK. He used to call me or her every day. But since Monday he hasn't call us." Mr. Anderson answered.

"I don't understand. He wasn't in London?" John asked.

"He was hiding. Nobody knew where he was, including us. He was being threatened. They called him, e-mailed him, even sent him letters threatning to kill him. He was attacked on the street once. David was going mad and decided to find out who was doing it, so he told everybody he would travel on business. But he stayed in London to investigate without being noticed." Mr. Anderson explained.

"Why didn't he call the police?" Sherlock asked intrigued.

"He called the police after the first calls. But he thought it had something to do with our business. We are in a global economical crisis. Our company had to cut businesses with many companies. Some of our suppliers are small companies that can bankrupt if they lose us as clients. David thought if this hit the press it would damage the image of our company and further undermine our businesses. So he decided to leave the police out of this and investigate a few of his suspects by himself."

"And do you know if he's found anything?"

"He was progressing. He had a suspect and he was pretty sure about the identity of the man who was threatening him. But then on one of his last calls, he was really sad. He said he was wrong and that the investigation was a mistake. He was considering calling the police." Mr. Anderson said with a pang of guilt in his voice. "We should have called the police from the begining."

The bell rang once more.

John and Sherlock exchanged glances.

"Who may be this time?" Mrs. Anderson asked.

"I'm really sorry, but I think it's my friend, Detective Inspector Lestrad from Scotland Yard. They've found a body this morning. We think it could be David's body." Sherlock answered sadly.

"Are you telling me that my son is dead?" Mrs. Anderson asked incredulously.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock answered, while Abelia tried to get up from the sofa but fell on her knees and then to the floor.

* * *

**Next chapter: **The investigation continues and a name comes up. Sherlock flirts with a receptionist and finds an important clue.

**Following chapters: **John tries to help someone who is in grave danger and ends up missing. Sherlock races to find him before it's too late.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes: **I'm really happy for all the kind messages and reviews. They keep me motivated to keep writing. And I'm also happy that some of you are even trying to guess who the murder is! Well, here is another chapter with some more clues. I hope you enjoy!

Not betaed. All errors are mine. But if you see something wrong, you can tell me so I can fix it on the next update.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock, nor Stephen King's works, since I may have included some reference to one of his books somewhere within the story.

**Warning:** mentions of drug use.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

"Help, please! She is pregnant!" Mrs. Anderson said, getting up from the couch and heading to where Abelia was laying on the floor.

"I'm a doctor." John said. "Let me help her."

They helped her to get up and sit down on the sofa. "Somebody go get a glass of water." John said and Mr. Anderson ran through the double door to get the water. John took Abelia's wrist in his hand, checking her pulse. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm dizzy. I'm sorry." Abelia said weakly.

"It's OK, dear. You don't have to apologize. You are pregnant." Mrs. Anderson said, holding her other hand.

John noticed that Abelia was very young. Maybe in her mid twenties. She had kind green eyes and long silky brown hair that reached the middle of her back. She was a very beautiful woman. Her beauty was that of a classic movie star, like Ingrid Bergman or Rita Hayworth.

"How long you've been pregnant?" John asked with his calm and kind voice, the same that he used to talk to his patients.

"I'm eight weeks pregnant."

"Have you already consulted an obstetrician?" He asked, while examining her lower eyelids to see if she was anemic.

"No, not yet. I've only been to my GP doctor and he asked for an ultrasound and prescribed me some vitamins."

"Your pulse is OK and it seems that you don't have anemia. This is probably a postural hypotension, which is caused when your blood pressure drops when you suddenly stand up. I'm sorry. If we knew you were pregnant we wouldn't have..." John trailed off, feeling guilty.

"It's OK, don't worry. I'm feeling better now. Just a little lightheaded."

"But you really need to consult an obstetrician. I know a great one. He's my friend. I can give you his number, if you want."

"Thank you, Dr. Watson. That's very kind of you."

"You can call me John." John said with a smile and Sherlock, who was watching everybody's reaction since he had dropped the bad news, rolled his eyes.

Mr. Anderson came back with a glass of water and handed it to Abelia. He was accompanied by Matt, who was carrying a tea tray, and by Lestrad.

"Is everything OK?" Lestrad asked Sherlock, who was standing a little apart from the group.

"Detective, is David dead?" Abelia asked trying to stand up again, but she was stopped by Mrs. Anderson and John.

"I can't officially tell you that, yet. I need someone from the family to come with me to formally identify the body first." Lestrad said with sorrow in his voice.

"Oh, my God!" Abelia started crying and held John, dropping the glass of water on the Persian rug. John hugged her rubbing small circles on her back.

Matt was there in a matter of seconds, picking up the broken glass, preventing anyone from getting hurt.

"I'll go with you." Mr. Anderson said preoccupied.

"You don't have to worry. The identification procedure is quite simple. You'll be asked some questions about David's appearance and then you'll see a photo of his face only." Lestrad explained.

"I'm going too." Mrs. Anderson said, getting up from the sofa.

"No. You stay here. Both of you. Matt, can you serve them the tea, please? And don't leave them alone while I'm out, OK?"

"Of course, sir. You can go. I'll take care of them." The middle aged man, with kind eyes, gray hair and few words answered reassuringly.

"Thanks Matt." Mr. Anderson kissed his wife in the forehead. Then he and Lestrad left the room.

Matt hurried to serve the tea.

John took a cup of tea and tried to persuade Abelia, who was still crying on his shoulder, to drink it.

She took the cup from his hands and looked at him in the eyes.

"I want him to go to jail, John!" She said with a hint of anger in her eyes.

"Who?" John asked.

"Stephen!" Abelia answered, raising her voice.

"Abelia!" Mrs. Anderson warned.

"It was him, Mrs. Anderson! You know that! Who else would it be?"

"Who is Stephen?" John asked taking a cup of tea for himself.

"David and Stephen have a company together aside from the family business." Abelia answered and then she took a sip of her tea, tying to calm herself.

"So you don't believe it was revenge from some impaired company?" Sherlock asked, carefully studying her reaction.

"No. I never believed it, and I told David, but he wouldn't listen to me." Abelia said with a calmer voice.

"Dear, we don't have any proofs he did anything." Mrs. Anderson said, taking her cup of tea from Matt and sitting down on the big sofa. Turning to face Sherlock, she explained. "Stephen and David were roommates in college. Stephen was not what you can call a good company to our son. He used drugs and introduced them to David."

"What kind of drugs?" Sherlock asked, politely refusing his cup of tea.

"I don't know. Marijuana, for sure. And some other recreational drugs, maybe? I don't really know. Even his own parents didn't want him. When they were in college, Stephen would never go home for Christmas and holidays. David would always bring him home and they would go to parties and then they would get home drunk." Mrs. Anderson remembered disgusted.

"After graduation, they took separate paths and didn't see each other that much. My son started working in our company, stopped with the drugs and the parties. And everything was fine until three years ago. Stephen returned from God knows where and looked for David asking for help. He was sick and had no money, nor a place to go. He'd had a big fight with his parents, and they didn't want anything to do with him. So David helped him, giving him a job in the office and helping him to find a place to live." Mrs. Anderson concluded taking a sip from his cup.

"We think he should be grateful that David helped him through bad times, but that's not what happened." Abelia said displeased. "Stephen would always fight with David. Every employee in the office witnessed their huge fights behind closed doors. We don't know what that fights were about, but it always ended with David giving him money or a promotion. We think Stephen was blackmailing David for some reason. But David always denied."

"Blackmailing? How?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't know! It's the only explanation! What other reason would Stephen get so much from David? And why David would keep Stephen on the office after the fights?" Abelia asked. "They even became partners in this company David started for them. I never trusted Stephen and he knows it. He hates me because he knows I always tried to warn David against him. And now that David is dead, I'm afraid he will try something against me. The company they owned is all his now."

"I think we need to talk to Stephen." Sherlock said thoughtfully. "Can you tell us how to contact him?"

"Of course. I'll give you his address and phone numbers. But you can find him tomorrow at the headquarters of Anderson's company. David got an office room for him there." Mrs. Anderson handed her cell phone to Sherlock, so he could get Stephen Russell's contact numbers.

"Mrs. Anderson, I need to go home." Abelia said while Sherlock entered Stephen's contacts on his own phone.

"What? No! You can't go home. You can't be there alone, dear. You are going to stay with us here in London. In fact, I want you to move in with us until we can decide what to do next."

"Thank you Mrs. Anderson! I appreciate that very much, but I promised Mrs. Jones, my neighbor, that I would pick up Lilly yesterday. I miss her." At the puzzeled look she saw in John's eyes, she explained. "Lilly is my little Yorkshire. I miss her so much! Besides, I need to get some clothes and my laptop."

"You don't live here?" John asked.

"Not officially. Since I've got pregnant I've been living here most of the time, but my house is in Cambridge. David and I are not married yet."

"You can't go! We need to find out what happened to David. I need to know that you and the baby are OK. And I need you by my side to give strenght. Besides, you can't drive home alone. It's more than an hour journey and you've just passed out."

"You don't need to worry, Mrs. Anderson. I'll call my brother and tell him about David. I'll ask him to pick me up and take me home. I'll arrange some things, pick up Lilly and I'll be back tomorrow night, OK?"

"OK, dear. If you are really sure you'll be OK." Mrs. Anderson aswered still worried.

"Yes. And if I need something, I'll call you."

* * *

Next morning, John and Sherlock headed to the headquarters of Anderson's company. They owned an entire building in London's financial center. David's office was on the last floor. They headed to the elevator, where two women were talking. Their employee ID cards informed they were from Human Resources Department.

"I wish he had returned my book. Now he's dead. How can I get my book back?" The woman with a ponytail and glasses whispered to her colleague.

"Laura! How can you be worried about a book when David is dead? And he was murdered! I can't believe what I'm hearing!" The second woman reprimanded.

"That book was a first edition!"

"Go ask Samantha. Or Stephen."

"Neither of them is here today."

The door opened on the seventh floor and the women got out. Sherlock and John exchanged glances.

"Stephen is not here today." John pointed out.

"That's not a problem. We can find out what people who works with him here thinks about him." Sherlock said.

When the elevator stopped on the last floor, they stepped outside and saw a double glass door with the name "Anderson Company Ltd." sandblasted to the glass. On the other side of the door they saw a reception desk and a woman talking on the phone while consulting something on her computer.

"I can't believe he is dead! His father identified the body yesterday." The woman was saying. "Murdered! He was such a sweetheart! And so beautiful! He treated everyone so well! Oh, my God! Why the good guys have to die while the bad guys remain. And guess what people are saying..."

Sherlock pulled John with him behind a big vase with some kind of bush plant on it, taking him from her line of sight.

"What are you doing?" John asked surprised.

"Disguising." Sherlock took off his coat and scarf, handing them to John. "Give me your cardigan."

"Are you serious? It'll not fit you. You are taller than me." John said, taking off his coat anyway, then his brown wool cardigan and handing it to Sherlock, who made a disgusted face, before putting the garment on.

Sherlock straightened his hair with his hands. "John, how do I look?"

"Like yourself. But without the elegant touch."

"Great. Wait here. Don't let anyone see you."

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock came out from behind the big vase and headed to the reception desk, passing through the glass door. The woman was still chatting on the phone, paying him no attention. Sherlock made sure she wasn't looking and took a piece of paper from the bulletin board hanging on the wall on the waiting area and folded it twice. Then he approached the desk and tried to get her attention. She hung up the phone and looked at him guiltily.

"I'm sorry! The phone doesn't stop ringing today. How can I help you?"

"Hello. My name is Sherlock Holmes I have a meeting with Mr. Stephen Russell. Is he here, already?" Sherlock asked breathlessly, checking his watch as if he was late.

"I'm Patty, his secretary. Are you sure you have an appointment today? That's not in his schedule." Patty said, searching on her screen for today's meetings.

"Are you not the receptionist?" Sherlock asked looking at her employee ID card.

"No, I'm here covering for Martha while she went to 5th floor to get office supplies. Mr. Russell didn't come to work today. What is the interview about? May I call somebody else to attend you?" Patty asked solicitous, looking Sherlock from head to toe, appreciatively.

"A friend of mine arranged for me to get a job application interview with him today. I was instructed to deliver this recommendation letter only in his hands." Sherlock showed her the folded paper.

"Well, you can give me the letter and I'll hand it to him as soon as he's back, what do you think? Or I can reschedule your meeting, although he's going to be very busy this week.

"I don't know. I think I'm having second thoughts about this job." Sherlock looked at her hesitant. "I heard someone who works here was murdered. Daniel was his name. Laura from human resources told me." Sherlock looked around and lower his voice conspiratorially. "I heard he had many enemies and that he was killed by revenge."

"What? Enemies? That's not true. How can people tell shit like this?" She said wrathfully. "I'm sorry for swearing. But David was a great man and now that he's dead, people won't stop talking. He didn't have any enemies."

"Well, that's not what people are saying. I even heard that he and your boss always had huge fights, and that Stephen threatened David's life." Sherlock said, studying her reaction.

"I can't believe it! People should find something better to do instead of gossiping about other people's lives. It was Laura who told you that? You can tell me. I'll not tell her you told me. Jesus! David and Stephen were best friends. Stephen would never threaten David's life! That's outrageous."

"So, they didn't fight?" Sherlock asked interested, leaning on the reception desk and looking at her in the eyes. He let his gaze fall briefly at her lips before returning to look at her eyes.

"Of course they fought all the time! But it was normal fights. Friend fights. Afterwards they were laughing together again. Stephen has nothing to do with David's death, I'm sure. But if I had to guess who did it ..."

"Who?" Sherlock asked conspiratorially, still looking her in the eyes intently.

"I know that no one would agree with me, but that woman..."

"What woman?"

"His fiancée." Patty lowered her voice, like she was telling a secret. "Everybody knows David had a lover. And I think she knew it too. She is very jealous. She would always come to visit and take him by surprise."

"Well If I was her I would be jealous too." Sherlock said with a small smile.

"Oh!" She looked a bit surprised with the flirt. "You wouldn't have to be jealous. I'm not David's lover."

"And you know who his lover was?"

"Most people believe it was his secretary, Samantha. She didn't come to work yet and that speaks volumes. Maybe she is crying her heart out right now. They were very close. Sometimes she would go to his office and they would spend hours 'talking'." She quoted the word talking with her fingers. "If she was not his lover, at least she knows who it was."

"Wow. We'll have to wait for the police to find out what really happened. It's just too complicated isn't it?" Sherlock said with a smile. "Well, it was a pleasure talking to you, Patty, but since Stephen is not here I'm afraid I have to go."

"Wait! Don't you want me to deliver the letter to Stephen? Here, let me." Patty picked up an envelope from a drawer and took the piece of paper from Sherlock's hand, lightly touching his fingers in the process and smiling shyly at him. She put the paper on the envelope and sealed it. "Now, I don't know when Stephen will come back to work. He is very upset with David's death. You can give me your number and I'll call you when he returns to work." She said with a smile.

"Or you can give me your number and I'll call you later to check if he's available." Sherlock said flirtatiously.

Sherlock added Patty's number on his contact list, then kissed her hand and left, not looking back.

He turned left on the double glass door and stopped behind the big vase, where John was supposed to be waiting for him, but he was not there. So he headed to the stairs nearby, and found John sitting on a step with both their coats and a non friedly face.

"John, I need you to call Abelia and see if she can meet you on her house now." Sherlock said, taking John's cardigan off and putting his coat and scarf on.

"What? She lives in Cambridge. It's an hour journey! Can't we wait? She told she would be back tomorrow." John said, putting his cardigan and coat back on.

"No, John, we can't wait. I have a lot of questions to ask her. And I need to find out if she knows something about David's lover."

"David had a lover?"

"Maybe. We need to know what she has to tell us about this and I think she likes you. She will open up to you. Go rent a car so you can drive to Cambridge."

"I don't need to go all the way to Cambridge. I could ask her by phone."

"No John. You need to talk to her face to face. You need to see her face while you ask the questions, to see if she is lying. I'll give you the questions and you will try to notice any nonverbal signs of lying."

"And how will I know if she is lying?"

"You will know."

"I'm not like you Sherlock! I will not know! And what about my patients! I have to go to the hospital this afternoon! If this is so important, why don't you go question her yourself?"

"John, she will not talk to me the same way she'll talk to you. So, all I need from you is for you to ask the questions, note the answers and observe her body language while she answers the questions. It's not that hard, is it?" Sherlock asked opening the staircase door and heading to the elevators, with John right behind him.

They stopped before reaching the elevators, as they heard a squeaked voice coming from the double glass door.

"Martha, you'll never guess what just happened while I was covering for you! Oh my God, I'm so lucky!"

Sherlock turned around and went back to the stairs.

"I think we should take the stairs."

"What about you? Where are you going while I'm questioning Abelia?" John asked following him back to the stairs and getting ready to go down 25 floors.

"I'm going to Stephen's house."

* * *

**Next chapter: **John goes to Cambridge to meet Abelia and has to run to try to save her life. Sherlock meets Stephen and catches him lying. Lestrad finds the place where David was hiding, full of vital clues.

**Following chapters: **While John is missing, Sherlock proceeds the investigation and finds out an incredible information about David's life.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes: **Hello, everyone! I'm back with one more chapter. Thank you so much for reading the story, and for all the nice reviews and messages. I love reading your guesses on who might or might not be the murderer! Hope you have fun!

Not betaed. All errors are mine. But if you see something wrong, you can tell me so I can fix it on the next update.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock, nor Stephen King's works, since I may have included some reference to one of his books somewhere within the story.

No warnings on this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Sherlock knocked at the door of Stephen's flat. A tall man on his late thirties opened the door. He was dressed in an old-looking navy-blue sweat suit and white socks. His brown hair was disheveled, and his honey-colored eyes were bloodshot and sleepy. Sherlock wondered if he had just woken up. It was almost eleven in the morning.

"Good morning. My name is Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock introduced himself. "Are you Stephen Russell?"

The man looked surprised. "Uh, yes, I'm Stephen."

"Mrs. Anderson gave me your address. Can I talk to you for a moment?" Sherlock asked politely.

"You are a detective, aren't you?" Stephen asked with his head slightly tilted to the side.

"Yes. Do you know me?"

"I may have read something about you in the newspapers." He answered evasively.

"May I come in?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh, yes, of course. I'm sorry. Please, come in." Stephen said, stepping aside so Sherlock could get into the apartment.

Sherlock took a look around. It was a spacious studio flat, with a big living room with modern furniture, a bedroom with a king size bed and a kitchen all in one room, but everything wisely disposed, resulting in a very harmonious place.

The bedroom was separated from the living room with a beautiful carved wood partition, that gave some privacy to the bedroom, but Sherlock could see through the cracks that the bed was unmade. There was a small bottle of whiskey on the nightstand, the kind that you can find in a hotel mini-bar.

The walls were covered with motorcycle posters and Sherlock recognized some of them from old movie scenes, like Rumble Fish and some of James Dean's and Elvis Presley's movies.

The kitchen counter was a mess with takeout boxes and more small bottles of alcoholic drinks.

"I'm sorry for the mess. I wasn't expecting visitors." Stephen said, looking embarrassed.

"That's OK." Sherlock said turning his attention to living room, where Stephen was heading. There was a big flat screen TV on the wall, showing some news, a jukebox directly from the sixties placed on the corner and a big and comfortable couch in front of the TV, sided by two modern armchairs.

"Please, sit down. Do you want something to drink? I can make some tea. Or coffee, if you prefer." Stephen took the blanket from the couch so Sherlock could sit down. He picked up the remote control and switched off the TV. "I wasn't really watching TV. I just don't like the silence. So, coffee or tea?" Stephen asked again.

"I don't want anything, thank you." Sherlock sat down on the couch, while Stephen sat on one of the armchairs.

"I'll not take up too much of your time Mr. Russel..." Sherlock began.

"Please, call me Stephen."

"Stephen, you know David Anderson is dead, don't you?" Sherlock asked, looking at Stephen's eyes, carefully studying his body language.

"Yes, I know. His father called Samantha yesterday after identifying the body and told her. Samantha is... was David's secretary. She was asked to inform everyone in the company." Stephen answered looking at Sherlock in the eyes.

Sherlock noticed that despite all the empty alcoholic bottles he could see in the apartment, Stephen wasn't drunk, but his voice was a little lazy, sleepy in a drug induced kind of way.

"David was murdered and I'm helping the police with the case, so I need to ask you some questions about David."

Stephen nodded.

"Do you know if David had any enemies?"

"David was a very good man, very friendly. People really liked him. I don't know any enemies he might have, but I know he was being threatened."

"Threatened? How so?"

"Well, it began about a month ago. Someone called him and threatened to kill him. He was very scared. He was assaulted once. A man with a knife attacked him on the street, but he managed to escape."

"Did he talk to you about it? Did he tell you something about the man who assaulted him?"

"Yes. He said the man was wearing a hood, which covered his face. He also said that the man was very strong. But he couldn't see much, since he run for his life."

"Did he have any suspects?"

"He thought that maybe it had something to do with one of the companies with which the Andersons did business, one that he had to end the contract. The owner was really pissed at him and became really aggressive in their last meeting."

Sherlock noticed that so far Stephen was answering all the questions clearly and calmly with no hesitation. "Do you know his name?"

"Ronald Miller. He owns a company called R. Miller Components, which used to supply electronic parts to our Technology Division. I can call Samantha and ask her his if you want some further information about him."

"Did David tell the police about the threats and his suspicions about Ronald Miller?" Sherlock asked, noticing that his cell phone was vibrating on his pocket.

"David reported the threats and the attack, but he never told the police about Ronald. He didn't want the media's attention on the crises the company was enduring. Instead, he decided to try to confirm if it was really Ronald who was trying to scare him."

"So a month ago he decided to hide from everyone except you, Abelia and his parents, is that right?"

"Yes." Stephen answered hesitantly. "Samantha also knew he was hidden. But none of us knew where exactly he was."

"So you haven't talk to him since last month?"

"We've just talked to him when he called us from public pay phones. He called mostly his parents to reassure them that he was all right."

"When did you last talk to him?" Sherlock noticed his cell phone was vibrating again.

"I don't know. Maybe two weeks ago?"

"You and David were friends?"

"Yes."

"How did you meet each other?" Sherlock discreetly picked up his cell phone, and rejected Lestrad's call.

"We met in college. We moved in together and lived five years as roommates. He was my best friend. After college I travelled to Canada and we lost contact. I lived there for two years, but it didn't work in Canada. I couldn't find a good job, and I missed my friends and family, so I ended up going to my parents' house. It didn't work there too. We had a fight. My father and I. So I asked for David's help and he gave me a job on his company. I've been working there since then."

"I heard you and David didn't get along well together. You two had huge fights."

"Who said that?" For the first time Stephen's poker face faltered showing something else. Hate, maybe? "It was Abelia, wasn't it? She doesn't like me. Don't be fooled by her 'damsel in distress' manner. She is not a good person. I warned David against her and that was one of the motives for our disagreements."

"He didn't believe you?"

"No. She had him and his family completely fooled. But she doesn't fool me."

"So according to you, Abelia is not a good person."

"No."

"But David loved and believed her."

"Well, yes, but..."

"And he would even fight with you to defend her?"

"No! We didn't fight! We were friends! I just tried to warn him against her. That's all."

"And he didn't believe you."

"What are you getting at with this?"

"Just wondering, if David loved and trusted Abelia that much, even fighting his best friend to defend her, why would he cheat on her?"

"What?"

Sherlock noticed that the question caught him off guard. His eyes were no longer looking directly at him. He noticed Stephen's hands fidget and he took a breath of air before talking again.

"David didn't cheat on her."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I've known David for years. He was my best friend. If he had someone, I would know." Stephen affirmed with a bit more confidence.

"He always told you everything?"

"I think so. I was his best friend and confidant."

"So do you know what David was doing on Baker Street last night?"

"I think he was going to meet you?" He half affirmed half asked, hesitantly.

"He told you that?"

"No. I'm just guessing."

"Based on what?" Sherlock asked the questions quickly, not giving time for Stephen to think.

"He didn't find anything against Ronald. And he was being followed."

"Did he tell you that?"

"Yes."

"Since when was he being followed?"

"It began last Thursday, I think. He noticed someone following him on the street and he managed to escape, hiding in the crowd. But the next day he saw the same person again while he was in a coffee shop."

"Thursday? That was four days ago. You said you last talked to David two weeks ago." Sherlock said, looking at Stephen with piercing eyes. "Did you or did you not talked to David recently?" Sherlock demanded, raising his voice authoritative.

Stephen's eyes widened and he stammered. "I-I f-forgot I'd talked to him last week."

"You forgot?" Sherlock asked in disbelief. "And can you remember if he called you or if you called him?" He asked mockingly.

"He called me! We didn't know how to contact him! Look, I've been through a lot, OK? My best friend is dead and I know Abelia is going to make my life a living hell now. I'm sorry I can't help you more. I really wish I could. David was my best friend and I want who did this behind bars. But I'm really tired right now. I'm not thinking straight."

"Don't worry. You helped more than you can imagine." Sherlock said with a smile, getting up from the couch.

Stephen looked unsure. "You are not suspecting me, are you?"

"Do you think I have any reasons to suspect you?"

"I don't know what Abelia told you about me! She doesn't like me, and..."

"Don't worry." Sherlock cut off his rambling. "I'm strict to the facts. The facts and my deductions will lead me to the killer. Thanks for your help, for now."

Sherlock headed to the door with Stephen walking behind him. At the door Sherlock turned to Stephen. "I'll be in touch." Sherlock shook his hand and headed to the elevator.

"Good bye." Stephen answered with a worried look in his eyes.

* * *

It had been 20 minutes since Sherlock left Stephen's flat and he had yet to get a taxi. He had allowed two people, an old lady with a cane and a pregnant woman, to take his turn on the two previous cabs that stopped for him. John would be really proud of him! While he waited for another taxi, he picked up his cell phone and dialed Lestrad's number.

"Detective Inspector Lestrad."

"Lestrad, it's Sherlock. You called me earlier."

"Yes! I was wondering where you've been."

"I was talking to Stephen Russell, David's best friend. And now I'm going to talk to Samantha, his secretary."

"Have you found anything?"

"David may have had an affair."

"Well, jealousy is one of top five motives for murder."

"David was being followed. Only five people knew he was in London, his parents, Abelia, Samantha and Stephen. None of them fit the description of the hooded attacker who tried to stab him on the street. And according to Stephen, none of them knew the exact location of his hideout."

"I have something for you too. We've found the hotel room where David was hosted. It's a little hotel just outside London. The forensics is processing the scene now. We've found some interesting things."

"What?"

"Some notes on David's investigations. It seems he was suspecting a guy named Ronald Miller. There's a lot of information on this guy's past and present life. We've also found a list with names of people with whom Miller is connected. I'm going to talk to him now."

"What else?"

"His identity, his cell phone, his laptop..."

"Did you saw the files he has on his laptop?"

"No. He has a program on his laptop that erases all the files from the hard disk after three wrong passwords. We're going to send the computer to a specialist and see if they can break the password."

"Anything else?"

"Yes, a package from the same jewelry store where you and John have been interviewing the manager. It's a gift, very beautifully wrapped."

"Did you open it?"

"Yes. It is a gold pendant with the letters 'D' and 'S' on it. It's craved with diamonds."

"The initials are 'D' and 'S'? Not 'D' and "A"?"

"Yes. Do you think it belongs to his lover?"

"Maybe. That's all?"

"One more thing. We are tracking his credit cards. He didn't use them this last month. He was paying everything in cash. But we extended the search to the last twelve months. So far we discovered that he had been expending a lot of money in clothes and jewelry. He travelled to Florence, Italy, on February, last year."

"When exactly did he go to Florence?"

"He spent the first two weeks of February in Florence. Why?"

"Nothing. He bought only one ticket?"

"Yes. We are going to search his financials and bank accounts for anything out of order. As soon as I get something, I'll call you, OK?"

"Ok."

Sherlock finished the call and decided to walk to the subway. He was looking to his left to cross the street, heading to the station when he saw Stephen leaving his building, talking on his cell phone. He had changed in a pair of jeans, white T-shirt and leather jacket. He stopped next to the street and looked for a taxi. Sherlock quickly hid behind a tree and tried to listen to the conversation. Stephen seemed nervous.

"Please, Sammy! I need to see you right now. Can you meet me somewhere?" Stephen paused to listen to the person on the other end. "Calm down? How can I calm down? That detective thinks I have something to do with David's death. I know it. He knew I was lying. I don't know what to do. I need to talk to you, Sammy, please!" He paused again and spotted a taxi that had stopped on the other side of the street for a man to get out. "OK, I'm going to take a taxi now. I'll be there in 15 minutes, thank you!"

Stephen finished the call and run across the street heading to the taxi.

Sherlock waited until he was gone and dialed John.

"Sherlock?"

"Hi, John. Are you going to Abelia's house, already?"

"I called her and she agreed to receive me. I'm renting a car right now. Why?"

"I need you to ask her if she knows the password to David's laptop."

"Did you find his laptop?"

"Lestrad found it. And I need you to find out if she knows about David's travel to Florence. David went to the most romantic city in the world in Valentine's Day, and I don't think he went alone."

"OK. Uh, Sherlock?"

"Yes, John."

"Have you returned your brother's ID, already?"

"Why the hell would I do that?"

"It's you brother's ID!"

"And it's very useful. I'm keeping it. I may need to use it again. Besides, Mycroft has more important things worry right now than to know what I'm doing with his ID."

"OK! I'm done talking about it. I hope not to be around when he finds out."

"You worry too much, John. I need to go. Don't forget to ask Abelia about the password."

"By the way, where are you going?"

"I'm going to talk to Samantha. But first, I need to talk to someone who has been holding back some important information. Bye John."

"Bye."

* * *

It took John almost two hours to get to Cambridge. "I should have taken the train." He thought, driving his rented Land Rover under the rain that had started coming down heavily half an hour ago. Unfortunately the GPS wasn't working and he had no idea how to get to Abelia's house. As he approached the city, he decided to stop for a quick lunch, since it was nearly midday, and then he would call Abelia to let her know he was near and ask her for directions.

He parked in front of a nicely looking restaurant just on the outskirts of town.

He ordered the steak and salad with pecans and, while he waited for the food, he decided to call his secretary and tell her he wouldn't be able to attend his patients' appointments today. John and his friend Dr. William had an agreement. They'd usually take care of each other's patients if one of them didn't manage to go to the hospital. So he wasn't really worried about today's appointments, but maybe he should ask his secretary to reschedule tomorrow's appointments, just in case. He didn't intend to stay in Cambridge that long, but he needed sometime to help Sherlock with the case.

The waiter brought his food as he ended the call. Jennifer, his new secretary, was very efficient and loved by his patients, but she had a bad habit of talking too much. John already knew the story of her whole family, including her five brothers. And it was very difficult to stop her, once she started talking.

John was pleasantly surprised with the quality of the food. While he was eating, he remembered to text Sherlock informing that Abelia didn't know the password to David's laptop. He had called her as soon as he rented the car to inform her he was on his way. He had asked her about the password, since he saw no problem to ask that by phone.

After lunch, John headed to the car and drove back to the main road. He called Abelia and put her on the speaker.

"Hello again, John."

"Hello, Abelia. I'm in Cambridge, but I don't know how to get to your house. My GPS is not working. Can you give me directions?"

"Of course, it's not that difficult. Where are you?"

"I just left a restaurant named MRC Steakhouse."

"OK, then you're about ten minutes from here. Go straight on this road until you see a beautiful park on your left. Turn left after the park, go straight for three blocks and then turn right when you see the church. My house will be on your left."

"OK, thank you Abelia!"

"And, John? Thank you too."

"Thank you for what?"

"The doctor you recommended? The obstetrician? I called him, and he is very nice. I have an appointment next week."

"I'm really glad you liked him."

"It was really great that you..."

John heard a loud noise coming from the other end, like something heavy falling to the ground, and then Abelia screamed.

"Abelia? What happened? Are you all right?"

"John, help! There is someone in my house!" Abelia whispered on the phone.

"Abelia?" John heard a gunshot on the other end.

"Oh my God, he's armed! John!" Abelia's voice was scared.

John sped up down the street, heading to Abelia's house. He ended the call and pressed 999, the emergency number in UK, reporting the invasion and giving them Abelia's address. He turned left after the park and hurried through the traffic, passing the other cars and praying not to be too late.

* * *

Sherlock arrived at Anderson's Company and headed to the reception desk. This time a blond middle aged woman wearing glasses greeted him. Sherlock could read the name 'Martha' on her employee ID card.

Good morning. My name is Sherlock Holmes. I'm a detective working on the case of David Anderson's murder. I need to talk to his secretary, Mrs. Samantha Smith.

While the receptionist called Samantha, Sherlock took a look around. There were some confortable couches and armchairs to the left of the reception desk, with a coffee table and many magazines and newspapers available for the visitors. Ahead from the waiting area, to the left, were a line of small offices, separated from each other by glass divisors. Sherlock counted at least 6 doors. Inside any office was a desk with a computer, bookcases and floor to ceiling windows that provided a beautiful view of the city.

To the right he could see two bigger offices facing each other, with a meeting room between them. Each office had an anteroom with a secretary desk and, unlike the smaller offices, these two offices had blinds on the glass divisors for privacy. One of the office's doors had a plate with David Anderson's name and the letters C.E.O. on it. The other officer had Stephen Russell's name. Sherlock could see Patty, Stephen's secretary, getting up from her desk and taking some files from a shelf.

"Samantha is not on her desk or in the nearby offices. Can you wait here? I'm going to check if she is in the coffee room."

Martha headed to the double glass door and turned right, disappearing from view.

"Hello, Sherlock! Wow! You look great in this coat! Are you going to a party or something?" Patty said, with her arms full of files and a bright smile on her face.

"Thank you! I'm glad you liked." Sherlock answered with a smile of his own.

"You came back! I'm sorry but Stephen is not here yet. You came to see him, didn't you?"

"Actually, I'm here to talk to Samantha. Martha went looking for her."

"Oh! Is she interviewing you in Stephen's place? Well, then good luck. You will need it!"

"Why would I need luck?" Sherlock asked intrigued.

"She is a good enough person, but she has no sense of humor. And she thinks everybody has to be as serious as she is. Don't make any jokes and you'll be fine!"

"Well, thank you for the advice."

"Well, I have to go. I'm busy right now with all this files. But if you are still here when I've finished, I could take you to the cafeteria downstairs. They have an excellent Chai Latte and their espresso is also very good, if you are a strong-and-dark-coffee kind of guy. Believe me. You will need to talk to someone after this interview with Samantha. Let me know once you've finished, OK? You have my number."

"OK. I'll let you know."

"Good luck." Patty whispered heading to the door as Martha returned accompanied by a very elegant blond woman, with intelligent eyes and very serious face.

"Are you Sherlock Holmes?" She asked. "Do you want to talk to me? I'm Samantha Smith."

* * *

**Next chapter: **Sherlock talks to Samantha and finds out an incredible information about David's life. Abelia is kidnapped, John tries to save her and goes missing.

**Following chapters:** Sherlock tries to break Stephen's password to get information to help save John's life.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes: **OMG, I'm so happy for all your lovely comments! Thank you so much! My vacation is over and I'm back to work now. But don't worry, because all the chapters are already drafted and all I have to do is review, correct typos and make some little changes here and there. I'll keep posting at least once a week, OK? So have fun!

Not betaed. All errors are mine. But if you see something wrong, you can tell me so I can fix it on the next update.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock, nor Stephen King's works, since I may have included some reference to one of his books somewhere within the story.

No warnings on this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

As soon as he parked in front of Abelia's house, John got out of the car and ran to the front door. He tried to open the door, but it was locked. He backed a few steps away from the door to try and find another way to enter the house. All the houses in the block were built in the same Victorian pattern, with brick walls and bay windows. The little gardens in the front of the houses were separated from the pavement by small brick walls.

John noticed that one of the glasses of the bay window had been broken. Shards of glass were spread all over the muddy ground and on the bushes near the window. Whoever had invaded the house might have entered from here. John cursed himself for not bringing his gun. He saw an ax resting on a tree trunk in the small garden and picked it up as a weapon. He carefully walked through the grass and flower beds on the garden and entered the house through the broken window, landing in a dinner room. He could hear a dog barking somewhere inside the house. He aimed his weapon and silently began searching the rooms, looking for Abelia or her assailant.

The lights were off, but the house was softly enlightened by the afternoon light, filtered by the curtains. All rooms on the ground floor were empty, so he started to climb the stairs. He checked all the rooms on the second floor, leaving the main bedroom, probably Abelia's bedroom, for last. The door was closed and the dog was barking from the other side. John aimed the ax and slowly opened the door. A very small Yorkshire terrier with little pink flower clips on its hair and a glittered golden collar was in the middle of the bedroom and redoubled its barking at him. Other than the dog, the bedroom was empty.

"So you are Lilly, aren't you?" John asked her in the same voice one would talk to a baby. He noted that he was aiming the ax yet, so he lowered it to the floor, propping its handle on his legs and showed his hands to the dog, in a non threatening way. The dog stopped barking and they stared at each other for some time. "It's OK, Lilly girl! I'm your mother's friend!" He took a step in her direction, and that was what it took for her to run under the bed and start barking at him again. John noted that Abelia's bedroom had signs of struggle. The bedside table was overthrown, the bathroom door was broken.

He picked up his cell phone and called Sherlock. The call went to voicemail.

"Shit." He said. "Sherlock, this is John." He said after the bip. "Abelia is missing. I was with her on the phone when she told me someone was in her house. I came here but she's gone. Call me as soon as you get this." John finished the call and started looking around the bedroom.

"What would Sherlock do?" He thought. Before stepping further into the bedroom, he looked for footprints on the floor, but there was none. He entered the bedroom and saw a gunshot mark on the wall. He headed to the bathroom and opened the door, avoiding erase any digital that the invader would have left on its handle. There was nothing out of place there. He came back to the bedroom and put the ax on the bed, taking a look around. There was a laptop on the desk and John hurried to turn it on.

While the laptop was turning on, he resumed looking for a clue, anything that would help him to find Abelia. He opened the drawers on the closet and on the bedside tables, frantically searching for something, anything. But there was nothing out of ordinary. He noticed Lilly had stopped barking and she was staring at him from under the bed.

He found photo albums of Abelia and David from travels they did together, from David's parents' house and from Abelia's house. There were some photos from David's friends from work too, but nothing helpful. He sat in front of the laptop and started to open files and documents. He opened the photo files and ran through the photos, but it was useless. There were thousands of photos. Even if there was something that could really help, it would take hours for him to find it. He gave up and called Lestrad, while closing all the documents and files on the laptop.

"Detective Inspector Lestrad."

"Lestrad, it's John. Listen to me. Abelia was kidnapped."

"What?"

"I was going to her house to ask some questions. I was with her on the phone asking for directions when she told me someone was breaking into her house."

"Did she call the police?"

"She was talking to me when we heard a noise. Then, I heard a gunshot. I called the police, but they're not here yet. I was closer, so I arrived first. But she's gone. There are signs of struggle on her bedroom and a bullet hole on the wall. The window downstairs is broken."

"Can you see blood somewhere on the bedroom?"

"No, there's no blood."

"You were talking to her when you heard the gunshot. Did you hear anything that may imply she's hurt?"

"I heard the gunshot and then she told me that the man was armed. So she wasn't hurt. But then I finished the call. I don't know what happened next."

John could hear the sirens approaching. "The police will be here soon."

"Listen, John. Don't disturb the crime scene! Go outside and wait for the police, OK?"

John looked guiltily at the ax and the photo albums spread on the bed. "I have to find her, Lestrad! She is pregnant. There must be something here to help me find her!"

"I'm going to Cambridge to meet you, OK? Wait for me. I'm just going to call Sherlock first."

John noticed the sirens getting louder. "OK, I have to go. The police are coming. I'm going to meet them outside. Ask Sherlock to call me. I tried to call him but it went to voicemail." And he finished the call.

John had closed all the files on the laptop, and he was going to turn it off, when he noticed an MSpy icon on the desktop. He double clicked the icon and opened the track program. There were two mobiles registered, Abelia's and David's. He selected Abelia's cell phone and clicked on 'Locations'. A window with a map opened, showing a jumping purple pin. He expanded the map and saw the jumping pin moving in a street not far from the house.

John closed the laptop and ran downstairs to the front door. Lilly ran down the stairs after him and stopped in the living room, at a safe distance, looking at him curiously. He picked the key up from the key holder beside the door. "I'm sorry, Lilly. I have to go. Don't worry. The police are going to take care of you, OK?" John opened the front door and headed to his rented car, after closing the door, so Lilly wouldn't escape. He had to be fast and find Abelia before the laptop's battery died. He put the laptop on the passenger seat and opened it again. The signal was visible, moving on the street.

John sped up following the lead showed on the screen. He looked through the rearview mirror as the police cars parked in front of Abelia's house.

* * *

"You really scared him." Samantha said from David's executive chair on his office. She had brought Sherlock to David's office so they could talk in private. Outside, the rain kept falling softly, as they could see through the floor to ceiling windows.

"Who?" Sherlock asked. He was sitting in front of Samantha, with the beautiful mahogany table between them. He was taking a look around the office. It was a very nice office, matching David's taste. Expensive furniture, objects of art, many books on the shelves and bookcases. But what really got Sherlock's attention were the photo frames all over the office. Some photos were from landscapes, but most were photos of his family and friends. He could see Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, Abelia, Samantha, Stephen, Martha, Patty, and some people he didn't recognize. He even saw a photo of a small Yorkshire full of hair bows.

"Stephen. He called me earlier in panic." Samantha answered. "He's a really good guy and my best friend. He doesn't deserve what he's been through. And he has nothing to do with David's death." Samantha picked a pen up from the pencil holder and started drawing patterns on a yellow post-it.

"If he doesn't have anything to do with David's death, why is he so scared?" Sherlock asked, getting up from the chair and walking by the office, picking up photos frames and objects, studying David's personality by analyzing his office.

"Well, if some detective suspected me to be a murderer I would be scared too!"

"David has many photos here. Some of these landscapes photos look very professional. Did he like taking pictures?"

"Yes. Photography was one of his hobbies. He had some expensive cameras and sometimes he would travel to some wild place only to take pictures of landscapes."

Sherlock put the photo frame back on the shelf and picked some of the books from the impressive bookcase. "Well, this explains much!"

"What?"

"He must have hundreds of detective books here."

"So you noticed David's other passion. He loved detective books. Well, not only books, but movies as well. And even documentaries about forensic science, serial killers, criminology."

"So he thought he could find the man who was threatening him all by himself, based on the knowledge he got from books and documentaries." Sherlock said disdainfully.

"David wasn't stupid, if that's what you're thinking. He was a very intelligent and competent executive. In fact, he was brilliant. He managed to lead us through the crisis without fire any of our employees. Of course he had to take some actions that pissed some of our suppliers, but he managed to keep the company lucrative." Samantha retorted with passion.

"It seems you really cared about your boss."

"Of course! He was my friend! Stephen, David and I were best friends, inside and outside work.

"You were just friends?" Sherlock asked looking into her eyes.

"Yes!" Samantha said vehemently.

Sherlock maintained eye contact with her and she didn't look away. "I know everything." He finally said.

"Know what?"

"I know David was having an affair."

"Who did tell you that? It's a lie!" She said, raising her voice.

"David bought a pendant with the letters 'D' and 'S' engraved." Sherlock answered nonchalantly.

"That doesn't mean..." She began, but Sherlock cut her off.

"He travelled to Florence in February. On Valentine's Day, without his fiancée." Although this piece of information had yet to be confirmed by John, he was pretty sure Abelia didn't go to Florence with David. He would probably have bought her ticket in that case.

"But that doesn't prove anything!" Samantha began again, but Sherlock cut her off again.

"He expended a lot of money in jewelry, clothes, gifts and dinners in expensive restaurants."

"David was a man with a refined taste..." She began to explain again but was stopped once more.

"Samantha, will you just cut it out? I talked to the manager in the jewelry shop where David bought his engagement ring. And he told me about the pendant. And guess what the initial "S" stands for?" Sherlock asked.

Right after he had talked to John, outside Stephen's building, Sherlock returned to the jewelry shop to talk to the manager, since he hadn't told everything he knew. At least, he hadn't told about the 'D' and 'S' pendant that Lestrad had found at David's hotel room. Using Mycroft's ID again, he managed to get this new information about the pendant.

"He told you about the "S"? Samantha asked scared.

"Yes."

"Please, Sherlock, don't tell anyone! I know it's too much to ask, but David didn't want anyone to know and now that he's dead we owe him to keep it secret! Besides, it's not what you're thinking! It wasn't just an affair. It was a real relationship."

"Really? And what about Abelia?"

"Well, if there's someone who was intruding in David's life it was Abelia. David probably loved her, but he wasn't in love with her."

"If he wasn't in love with her, why were they engaged?"

"It's a long history."

"So, it's good that I have time right now. You can start from the beginning." Sherlock said, sitting down again, intertwining his fingers on his lap and resting on the back of his chair.

* * *

John had managed to reach the car where he assumed Abelia was being taken, before the battery on the laptop ended. The kidnapper was driving a black GL-Class Mercedes,at a safe speed, heading to Exmoor National Park in West Somerset. They were driving for almost two hours now, but he couldn't see Abelia, since he was maintaining a safe distance from the Mercedes, so he wouldn't be noticed. John had tried to call Lestrad moments ago, but there was no service in that woody area.

As they entered deeper into the park, he started to wonder where they were going, since that area was not inhabited. The road was deserted, so he had to distance himself even more and he was afraid of losing them. Indeed, after a curve he couldn't see them anymore. They had left the main road entering into the woods.

"Damn!" John slowed down the car, looking for a secondary road on the right and left sides of the main road. After a while he found it. An unpaved road where he could see tire marks. John followed the marks, praying for these marks to be from the black Mercedes, since he couldn't see the car anymore. He went deeper into the woods and he did not see any inhabited place for miles. It was a very good place to hide someone who has been kidnapped.

The tire marks continued, turning left on a smaller muddy street that went on forever. John lost track of time, but he could see the sun was hiding behind the trees, and it was getting darker.

As he turned another corner, he saw a clearing in the woods and a beautiful cottage. It was made in stones and wood and it was surrounded by an amazing green garden, with many multicolored flowers. The black Mercedes was parked outside and the lights on the cottage were on, fed by a generator installed outside the house.

John entered the woods with his car, trying to find a place to park where he could not be seen. He parked behind some bushes and got out of the car, heading to the house. He cursed again for not bringing his gun. Or at least the ax he had left on the bed, in Abelia's bedroom.

He approached the clearing, hiding behind trees and bushes, until he finally got to the clearing and ran to the black Mercedes. He crouched beside the car and opened the driver's door, getting into the car. He lowered himself in the driver's seat and started searching for some clue, opening the glove compartment, looking inside the cup holders and other compartments. He found receipts inside the glove compartment, one from a pet store in Cambridge, another from a hair stylist in London, some from parking lots in London. There was also a small Dior makeup palette.

"So this is probably Abelia's car." He thought.

It was dark by then, so he trusted the dark to keep him from view. He got out of the car closing the door very carefully not to make noises. He crawled to the dark windows on the left side of the house, avoiding the front windows, where the lights were on. He raised a little and looked through the window. It was a farm-house style kitchen and it was dark and empty. He tried to open the window and with no effort, it opened. He stood up and climbed in the stone wall, entering the house through the window, stepping on the counters and jumping to the floor very carefully, avoiding making noises.

He took a knife from the counter and headed to the living room, where the lights were on. He hid behind the kitchen's door and looked through the crack between the door and the wall. He could see part of the living room and the dining room. A man was in the living room, lighting a fire in the fireplace.

The man was kneeling in front of the fireplace, his back to John. John could see he was wearing gloves, black pants, a black hood and military style boots. His black leather jacket was hanging on the wall beside the entrance door.

John tried to plan what he should do next. If he managed to get to the living room unnoticed, he would be able to overpower the man and immobilize him by giving him a headlock. Then he could disarm him, if he was carrying a gun. But this plan only would work if the man was alone. Maybe that man had a partner that was already waiting in the house for him to bring Abelia. John would have to make sure they were alone. Maybe it would be wiser to step back a little to try and find out how many people were in the house and where they were keeping Abelia before he did his next move.

He saw the man lighting the fireplace. Then he stood up and took the fireplace poker from the tool set and rearranged the burning wood. He turned and John could see his face. He was a tall young man in his late thirties, brown hair, brown eyes and a day or two of stubble. He slowly walked to the couch and sat down looking to his watch. He took a magazine from the coffee table and flipped through the pages. It would be so easy for John to just hit him, but he had to be absolutely sure there were no other partners in the house. John stepped from behind the door, into the kitchen when he heard a voice and froze in place.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing? I thought we agreed not to touch anything!" John stepped behind the door again and looked thorough the crack, looking for the owner of the voice. He saw Abelia entering the living room and sitting down on the couch beside the man.

"It's cold and this fireplace is amazing. Besides, what harm can it do, anyway? I'm only warming the place up." The man answered looking kindly at Abelia.

Abelia smiled, holding the man and resting her head on his shoulder.

John was so surprised with the scene before him, that he didn't even notice he had stepped out from behind the door and he had walked to the living room, to take a better look.

"What is happening here?" The words left his mouth before he could fully process the scene and reason if it was a good idea to make his presence noticed.

* * *

**NA: **Sorry! I decided to end this chapter a little earlier than initial intended, but don't worry! Chapter seven is on its way!

**Next chapter:** Samantha tells Sherlock David's biggest secret, and he finds out about Abelia's kidnap. John ... Well, you'll see what happens to poor John.

**Following chapters:** Time is running out, and Sherlock feels guilty.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes: **Hello, everybody! Hope you are all fine! Here's chapter seven. Thank you so much for keep following the story and reviewing, commenting and all the favorites. I love reading your impressions. You are all freaking amazing!

Last chapter I don't know if I was clear enough as to how John was able to find Abelia's car through MSpy. Not everybody knows MSpy, so let me explain.

Abelia had the software called MSpy (My Spy) on her laptop. MSpy can track cell phones in the background without the owner's knowledge. On her contact list, John's found two contacts: Abelia and David. When he double clicked Abelia's cell phone, a map was showed, with a purple pin jumping on the exact location of the cell phone. So, as she was with her cell phone, he was able to follow the direction and find her, before the battery on the laptop died and before they entered the woody area where there was no cell service.

Not betaed. All errors are mine. But if you see something wrong, you can tell me so I can fix it on the next update (I really appreciate being corrected! It's the only way to improve my writing, isn't it?).

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock, or Stephen King's works, since I may have included some reference to one of his books somewhere within the story.

**Warning:** This chapter contains violence.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

"Sherlock, before I start, I need you to know that I love them with all my heart. Both of them. They've been my best friends since I started working here. They always supported me and helped me through difficult times, especially David. And they've been through a lot. I will not stand if you get to be judgmental about them." Samantha was still sitting on David's executive chair, and she was unsure on how to start this conversation.

"Samantha, I'm here to find David's murderer not to judge anyone." Sherlock tried to reassure her.

"OK. So let me get this out of the way. David was gay. And so is Stephen."

"Yes, I figured Stephen might be homosexual."

"How?" She asked surprised.

"I've been at his studio flat. He doesn't exactly try to hide it on his own home."

"It was the Elvis Presley, James Dean and Mickey Rourke's posters that gave him away?"

"Well, not just that, but yes. After seeing them, I noticed some subtle signs on his flat decorations and on his body language. But, never mind. Keep going."

"They met years ago, in college and fell in love. They moved in together and, although everybody thought they were roommates, they were in fact boyfriends. Of course their families suspected something was going on between them, but it was easier to close their eyes and pretend they were just friends. But Stephen was not happy and he wanted to get out of the closet, if you know what I mean. This was the main motive for them to argue, because David didn't want anybody to know." Samantha took a deep breath and continued.

"Stephen told his parents when he was still in college. They didn't accept and demanded him to stop seeing David. After that he avoided his parent's house, going to David's parents every holiday."

"They had a problem with drugs and alcohol?" Sherlock asked, remembering what Mrs. Anderson had told him yesterday.

"Maybe, but nothing serious. They were young and they were in college. They grew out of it before it could become a real problem. But after college they had a dilemma. Stephen wanted to go to Canada and start a new life with David without lies. David wanted to work on his parents' company, and he wanted their relationship to remain a secret. They couldn't get to an agreement so they decided to break." Samantha brushed her blond hair out of her eyes. She looked exhausted. The bags under her eyes told Sherlock that she had barely slept last night.

"Stephen lived in Canada for a while, but when he ran out of money, he returned to his parents' house. He lived there for a while, but his parents were very homophobic, especially his dad. When a friend told his dad that Stephen was in a gay bar kissing a man, his dad beat him very hard. He had to stay in the hospital for a few days, and when he left the hospital, he went to David's for help. You can imagine the rest. David got him a position in Anderson's company and they became a secret couple again."

"What about Abelia." Sherlock asked.

Samantha sighed. "David was a conflicted man. He was raised in a house with a very religious mother and a very intelligent, pushful and strict father.

"Mrs Anderson was a very sick woman on her youth, before she got married. The doctors didn't think she would make it to adulthood. So everybody on her family did everything they could to make her feel better. They'd do everything she asked and would grant all her wishes. Nowadays, she's not a bad person, she treats everyone kindly enough, but she's also used to have all her wishes done without questions. Back then, she was able to defeat the disease, and it was a little miracle, indeed. After that she became a very religious woman and raised her son under her beliefs.

"As to David's father, he is the one who managed to build up the Anderson's company and bring it to where it stands now. He built the Anderson's fortune with a lot of hard work, and David was really proud of him. And he wanted his father to be proud of him, too. His father wanted David to follow his steps and take over the family company.

"So, David loved his parents and wanted them to be proud of him. And he thought that exposing his homosexuality would disappoint them. I'm not trying to defend his behavior I'm just trying to set the background so you can understand his actions."

"When Stephen was back to David's life, Mrs. Anderson was very worried with her son's soul or whatever. She began to press him into finding a girlfriend, to get married and have children. He was able to resist her demands until she got breast cancer about a year ago. She used it to emotionally blackmail him into start dating Abelia, who she herself introduced to David. He started dating her behind Stephen's back, only to please his mother. Stephen discovered, of course, and they broke up again. They had huge fights concerning Abelia in the office, in front of everyone. But I don't think anyone knew what the fights were really about. Abelia certainly didn't know about them. She always thought I was the one who wanted David. One day I had a serious conversation with David and tried to talk some sense into him, and he decided to dump her and try to win Stephen's forgiveness. The S and D pendant was an apology gift. But then, Abelia got pregnant, which I think was totally on purpose, and his parents demanded him to marry her."

"So David and Stephen were not together anymore?"

"When the threats to David's life began, they approached again. I think David had no intention to marry Abelia. He wanted Stephen back. But he cared about her and didn't want to break her heart. Besides, she is pregnant. He had his child to consider."

"Do you think they really loved each other? Stephen and David?" Sherlock asked curious.

"When David's father called me after he identified the body, he asked me to tell everyone in the office. So I gathered everybody in the meeting room and told them the bad news. Stephen excused himself and ran to the restroom. Everybody was sad and upset, but Stephen was devastated. I gave him some space, but he was taking too long to come back, so I went to the restroom and demanded him to open the door. He did and I stepped inside. He was crying, Sherlock. He leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. It broke my heart to see him like that, so I opened the cabinet and took one of those 'Restroom closed for cleaning' sign and hung it outside. Then I sat down on the floor with him, held him and we both cried, I don't know for how long." Samantha said sadly, picking up another post-it and drawing again.

"I took him to my room and gave him one of my Valium pills. Then I took him home. I didn't want to leave him alone, so I stayed in his house last night. We talked about David. The good moments, the funny moments and the bad moments. He was so sleepy! But I made him eat something before I put him to bed. I couldn't sleep, so I stayed up till late night, drinking a lot."

"I need to ask you one more question. When you last talked to David?"

"I didn't talk to him while he was hiding. He only called his father and Stephen regularly, and Abelia sometimes."

"Do you know what he was doing on Baker Street that night?"

"No. I have no idea."

"So, the facts are: David was engaged to Abelia but loved Stephen. He started to be threatened and he was attacked once. He was scared so he decided to hide and investigate his principal suspect. He told everyone he was in Canada, but he was staying in a hotel outside London. At some point in his investigation he decided to contact me. Although nobody knew exactly where he was, he was still afraid, because he didn't go to my place during the day, he waited until after midnight to try to contact me. And in that very night he was murdered." Sherlock said thoughtfully. He looked Samantha in the eye. "The murderer knew that David was going to look for me. And he killed him before he could reach me." He concluded.

"Oh, my God! But why? What David was going to tell you?"

"What I need to know now is who else knew David was going to meet me. I know for sure that Stephen knew it. Now I need to know if Abelia also knew it and if she knew about David and Stephen. Sherlock picked up his cell phone to call John. "I have someone in her house right now. I'm going to ask him to..." He trailed off.

"What?" Samantha asked.

"The battery is dead." Sherlock said, looking at his cell phone.

"You can call him from my phone." Samantha said and, in the same time, the phone rang.

"Yes, Martha?" She answered the receptionist call.

"There's a man from Scotland Yard named Lestrad on line two. He wants to talk to Mr. Holmes."

"It's Lestrad from Scotland Yard." Samantha said passing the phone to Sherlock.

"Sherlock."

"Sherlock! What the hell! What's the problem with your cell phone?" Lestrad said from the other end. "I've been looking for you for ages!"

"Is there something wrong?" Sherlock asked worried.

"Yes! Abelia is missing! John called me and told me someone invaded her house and took her."

"What?" Sherlock asked in disbelief.

"He was the first one there, but he is not there right now. I'm going to Cambridge."

"Have you left London yet?"

"No, not yet. Why?"

"Come here to get me. I'm going with you." Sherlock said ending the call.

"What happened?" Samantha asked.

"Abelia is missing." Sherlock said getting up from his chair.

"Oh, my God!" She got up too.

"She was kidnapped from her home in Cambridge. Where is Stephen?"

"What? You are not suspecting him, are you?"

"I just want to know if he is in London right now. Just call him, OK? I'm going to call John. May I use you phone?" Sherlock said picking up the phone without waiting for her answer.

* * *

The two people in the room jumped to their feet, turning to face John wide-eyed.

"Oh, my God, John! You scared the shit out of me!" Abelia said, putting her hands on her heart, as soon as she realized who it was.

"Who is this?" The man on her side asked, pointing the fireplace poker to John, who immediately remembered he was carrying a knife, which he pointed to the man.

"He is John Watson. The doctor I told you about." Abelia said turning to John. "How did you get here?"

"How did I get here? I thought you were in danger! I followed your cell phone with your My Spy on your laptop!"

The man with a hood turned to look at Abelia with angry eyes.

"OK! It was my fault. I completely forgot to bring my laptop with me!" Abelia said raising her hands in a gesture of an admission of guilt. "But how could I imagine he would use my own laptop to track me?"

"Is your cell phone off?" Jimmy asked sharply.

"There is no service here!"

"Turn off your cell phone, Abelia! Now!" Jimmy said authoritatively.

"OK!" Abelia picked up her cell phone from her pocket and turned it off.

"Who are you?" John asked looking at the man.

"He is my brother Jimmy." Abelia said, brushing her hair out of her eyes, in a nervous gesture.

John began to think hard, trying to find out what was going on. Abelia forged her own kidnapping? No, that was not possible. But she clearly wasn't happy to see him here, and she sure doesn't seem someone who needed rescuing from a kidnapper. Was this man really her brother? Has John understood all wrong, and therefore, he was making a fool of himself? And what they were doing in this place? Did this house belong to them?

John took a quick look around the place and his brows furrowed. The living room was very charmingly decorated in a cottage-style. Cozy couches and armchairs in neutral colors, made in natural materials were disposed in the big living room. The beautiful flowers in the garden outside were visible through the big windows on the front of the house. But John was impressed with the amount of photos disposed all around the living room. Some of them were from David working on the garden outside or smiling in a breathtaking landscape. Some were from another man, with brown hair and hazel eyes, with a leather jacket in a motorcycle or with an apron in the kitchen, cooking a meal. But what had John gaping were some selfies with both of them holding each other and smiling to the camera. In one of these photos they were … kissing? "What the hell?" John thought.

"What are we going to do now? I never imagined he would be able to follow us here." Abelia asked worried.

"It could be the police Abelia!" Jimmy said still angry at his sister.

"I know! I said I'm sorry! What do we do now?"

"Does anybody know you are here?" Jimmy asked slowly, looking John in the eye.

John sensed a change in the atmosphere. The question had a hint of a threat to it, as if, in case he said no, his life wouldn't be worth anymore. John remembered he hadn't managed to talk to Sherlock, and the last time he spoke to Lestrad he hadn't told him he was going to follow Abelia's car. So nobody knew where he was.

But he didn't need to share this information. He needed to buy sometime to think what to do next.

"Were they lovers? David and that man in the photos?" John asked looking straight to Abelia.

She avoided eye contact and didn't answer.

"And you knew it." It wasn't a question anymore. John thought about what Sherlock had said about the 'D' and 'S' pendant. The 'S' was not for Samantha. The 'S' was that man's initial. And Abelia was particularly vehement when accusing David's best friend, Stephen, of murder. Was this man Stephen? And the most important question: "Are both of you involved in David's death?" John asked aloud.

Abelia looked quickly at her brother, who moved so fast, that took John totally out of guard. In one fluid move, he stepped on the couch and hit John on the head with the poker. John fell to the ground, his vision blurred and the knife flew from his hand. Jimmy jumped from the couch straddling John's hips and picking up the knife, holding it to his throat.

John felt an excruciating pain on his head. Everything was spinning and he felt himself drifting. He fought against unconsciousness, trying to bring Jimmy's face, above him, back to focus. He could feel blood dripping from the wound on his head and he started feeling nauseous. As a doctor he knew he had to stay conscious. If he was luck, he was now with a severe concussion, but in the worst case scenario, he would be with some kind of head trauma.

"Stop!" Abelia screamed, although, for John her voice was muffled. "Give me the knife, Jimmy!"

"Why?" Jimmy's dark eyes were on John, following his every move with interest.

"You can't kill him! His friend is one of the best detectives on UK."

"OK, Abelia. You are right. So let's apologize for being so rude to him. Let's give him a ride home and let's ask him to kindly not tell anyone anything, and we'll be cool!" Jimmy said sarcastically, while pressing the knife to John's throat, cutting the skin. John felt sick and tried to turn his head to the side to avoid choking on his own vomit.

"Jimmy, Stephen will be here soon. We need to stick to the plan. Let's do what we need to do. We can leave him here. Nobody except Stephen knows this place. He can scream his lungs out and nobody is going to hear. Meanwhile, we can find out if anybody knows he is here, and we can think this situation through, before we do something we'll regret later." Abelia said pleadingly. She was afraid. Jimmy loved being in control, and it was very hard to dissuade him, once he had made up his mind. And the way he was looking at John right now sent shivers down her spine.

"Jimmy, look at me!" Abelia screamed again. "Give me the damn knife!"

Jimmy looked at his sister considering. Finally he gave up and agreed. "OK. I'll lock him in the bedroom. Then we'll wait for Stephen.

"OK." Abelia said relieved.

"And Abby, when Stephen arrives, you get him out of the house as quickly as possible. We don't want him wandering around the house and finding this guy in his bedroom. Take him with you in your car. I'll be hiding upstairs."

"OK, don't worry. I'll do everything like we planned."

Jimmy felt John trying to roll over underneath him.

"Are you not going to pass out already? Abelia, would you give me the wood vase, please?" Jimmy asked coldly, but politely.

Abelia took the slim wood vase from the coffee table and handed it to her brother, who had picked up John's cell phone from his pocket and turned it off.

"Thank you." Jimmy struck John in the other side of his head with the vase, knocking him out.

* * *

**Next chapter: **John suffers.

Sherlock examines the crime scene in Abelia's house and finds out an important clue.

Abelia and Jimmy are up to no good and so, someone else is in danger.

**Following chapters:** Sherlock meets Jimmy, gets really angry at him and has to be escorted out of the building by the security guard.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes: **Hello again! Here is chapter eight. This chapter is longer than the previous ones, and I loved to write the part where Sherlock examines the same crime scene John had previously checked out (before disappearing) and, while John was upset for not finding anything, Sherlock finds out a lot of clues that John had missed! I hope you enjoy!

Not betaed. All errors are mine. But if you see something wrong, you can tell me so I can fix it on the next update.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock, or Stephen King's works, since I included some reference to one of his books in this chapter.

**Warning:** No warnings on this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 8**

Stephen flew down the unpaved road on his motorcycle, heading to his and David's cottage to meet Abelia. He was fuming in anger. "What the hell is she doing there?" He thought, remembering his earlier conversation with her.

After Sherlock's visit that morning, he had met Samantha for lunch in a cafe near Anderson's Company. She'd managed to calm him down, telling him not to worry. The police would find the real murder, even if they needed to tell them the truth about David's sexual orientation and the real relationship between them. The detective, Sherlock, would leave him alone if he knew Stephen loved David. Stephen disagreed about telling them the truth, though. David didn't want anybody to know he was gay when he was alive. So Stephen would never tell anyone now that he was dead.

Samantha sent him home promising to call him if she had any news, but he simply couldn't go to his empty flat, so he went to Regent's Park, sat down on a bench and looked at the children playing in the playground, people running on the jogging path, old couples walking hand in hand. He let the sadness take over him.

"I'm so sorry, David!" He thought to himself. He had been so stupid! If only he could go back in time and change some of his decisions! He shouldn't have wasted time trying to change David's life, trying to make him change. He should have got what David was offering to him and make the most of every single time he was able to enjoy David's company. He never doubted David's love for him. But for Stephen it was never enough. He wanted everybody to know about their love. He wanted to be able to tell the girl from the coffee shop where he usually had breakfast, who always asked him if he was dating someone already, that he had an awesome boyfriend, thank you very much! He wanted David to be proud of their relationship and not hide it from everyone.

But David wasn't ready for it. He couldn't give it to him, at least not now. When David was alive, they would always talk about their future together. David asked Stephen to give him some more time. He used to say that when the time came, he would be able to leave Anderson's Company, to buy a house in a small village, not far from their cottage, and they would start a life together.

But then, Abelia showed up on David's life and all Stephen's dreams were shattered. When Stephen found out about Abelia, they had only been to a few dates. If he hadn't been so dumb, he could have kicked her out of David's life right away. David didn't like her. He was doing it just to please his blackmailer mother. Stephen should have fought for David, make him see some sense, but he was so jealous! Instead of fighting for him, he pushed him out of his life and straight into Abelia's welcoming arms. And she sure took advantage of David's sadness. Not long after that, David announced he was going to be a dad and broke Stephen's heart.

Stephen had promised himself he would never forgive David for this. He started looking for another job, because working beside him every day was too painful. So, when an opportunity to work as far from David as possible came up, he really intended to go for it, not in Canada this time, but in Australia. He even started looking for a house to rent, places to visit while he was there and he contacted some old friends that he knew lived there. He didn't have the guts to tell Samantha, though. He knew she would be upset, so he postponed telling her as long as he could. But he did tell David. And David freaked out. David didn't want to lose him. He promised to break up with Abelia, though he would give her and his child all the assistance they'd need. He promised to tell everyone about his homosexuality and assume their relationship. But Stephen was hurt. And deep down, he didn't believe it. So he said no.

David had to be threatened and attacked for Stephen finally forgive him. And now he was glad that he did, because if David had died while they were still apart... Stephen couldn't even think about that. They had been together again, as far as David's situation allowed, since he was hiding. They were making new plans for when the whole ordeal was over, better plans, plans that included David's child. Once in a while, he would take the child to the cottage. They would build a playground and they would have fun together as a family. But now that David was dead and Stephen couldn't bring himself to care about anything anymore.

Probably Mrs. and Mr. Anderson would even kick him out of the office. But he wasn't worried about that. The only thing that mattered to him now was the cottage. They had chosen the place together, before David met Abelia. David had decorated it himself with his refined sense for interior design, turning the place into a home. He had built the beautiful garden himself. Stephen helped with some bricklaying, carpentry and painting. Sometimes they would escape their daily routine and go to the cottage, pretending to be a real family. The place allowed them to be themselves. They were happy there. That was their special secret place. Not even Samantha knew about it.

So, when his thoughts were interrupted by a call from Abelia, who in a very businesslike voice, demanded to meet him in the cottage, he'd got really pissed. How the hell did she know about the cottage? And how did she get a key?

Stephen left the park as quickly as possible, went home, grabbed his motorcycle and headed to the cottage. It was dark when he reached the clearing where their property was located. He saw Abelia's car parked outside. The lights were on in the living room. He parked his motorcycle beside the car and took off his helmet, hanging it on the handle bar. He run to the front door and opened it with a bang, startling Abelia who was on the couch, reading a magazine and stroking her almost nonexistent pregnant belly.

"What are you doing here?" Stephen asked sharply.

"You should have knocked! I'm pregnant! You can't scary me like that!" Abelia admonished.

"How did you get in?" Stephen asked, completely ignoring her complaints. He should have knocked his own door? Was she insane?

"I'm here because we need to talk, Stephen." She put the magazine down on the coffee table and looked at him.

"How do you know about this place?"

"How do you think I know about this place, Stephen? And how do you think I know about you and David?" She asked him like she was talking to a dumb child.

"I..." Stephen always thought that Abelia didn't know about them. So it was a surprise that she did. His first impulse was to lie, like he did with Sherlock. But they were in a place full of evidences of his and David's relationship. There was no point in lying. "I..." Damn! How couldn't he come up with an answer?

"David told me. He told me all about you."

"What? He didn't!" It wasn't possible. David would never tell Abelia he was gay, let alone that he was in a relationship with Stephen. And Abelia was always jealous of Samantha, not Stephen. When did it change?

"He told me he loved you, and he told me he did everything for you. He gave you a job, he rented a flat for you and he started a company for you. He even bought this beautiful cottage for you, didn't he? But he told me you were never happy!"

"We bought this cottage together! And the company was ours too, not mine!" He said, raising his voice. How could she say that? Was she implying that he was with David because of his money?

"Why are you screaming at me, Stephen? I'm the one who should be screaming at you right now! I'm pregnant with David's son. I was his fiancée, while you were a mere sexual partner in this homosexual adulterous relationship of yours."

Oh! Abelia was hurting too. How could he be so selfish and not notice it? It wasn't really her fault that David left him to be with her. If someone had to be blamed, it would be Mrs. Anderson. Abelia was probably as depressed about David's death as he was. He had to be understanding.

"I'm really sorry that you get involved in all this mess, Abelia, and I understand that you are mad at me. You are probably just a victim in this game that Mrs. Anderson assembled. David really cared about you. But he loved me. It wasn't just an affair."

His reply seemed to surprise Abelia, but it only lasted a tiny moment, then she was back at being sassy.

"Whatever. My point is: you were never grateful for all the trouble he had, only to make you happy. No, you always wanted more."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Thanks God Mrs. Anderson opened his eyes. She showed him how parasitical your relationship was. David spent a lot of money on you, didn't he? He was so generous!"

"Will you shut up? I wasn't with David for the money! When you and the Andersons will realize that money is not that important to me as it is for you? I'm not ashamed of growing up in a modest family. I don't fear poverty. I went to Canada after college without any money. It didn't bother me. And I was willing to go to Australia to begin my life all over again. I only accepted David's gifts because it was important to him, because it made him happy to take care of me!"

Abelia snorted, showing clearly her disbelief.

"I'm not going to discuss this with you. And David is not here to defend himself. So, just go. Leave my property and don't even set foot here again. Go!"

"I'm sorry, but this is not your property anymore. David bought this property with his money. Now that he's dead, all of his things belong to my son. At least Mrs. Anderson said so."

"We build this place together, Abelia! A lot of my money is here too."

"Well, that's not what the property registration says."

Stephen paled. This couldn't be happening. He couldn't handle this right now. He had just lost David. He couldn't lose their special place, either. He sat down on David's favorite armchair because he felt his knees weaken. "You can't do it."

"Well, if you want you can go talk to Mr. and Mrs. Anderson and ask them. They'll explain everything to you."

"Abelia, I know you're not a bad person. You're just hurt, I understand. But this place is everything to me. It's all I have left. Please..." Stephen couldn't continue. His voice faltered. He didn't want to beg, but the word left his mouth, nevertheless.

Abelia averted her eyes and stayed quiet.

"What do you want from me?"

She still didn't answer.

"Will you at least let me buy it from you?"

"Do you have money?" Abelia asked suddenly interested.

"I have some money and I can try a loan, if it's not enough." Stephen's hope began to rise again, but Abelia seemed to dislike his answer. She stayed quiet for awhile, considering.

"You are right, Stephen." She finally said.

"About what?"

"I'm not a bad person. It's not fair that you lose the house. But I have a child to consider."

"I know."

"I will let you keep the cottage and you won't have to buy it. But I need you to do something for me."

"Are you serious?" Stephen asked in disbelief.

"Yes, I'm serious. I still don't like you and I want you out of my life as soon as possible. But I want to do what is right."

"Thank you!" Stephen felt relief wash over him.

"But as I said, I need you to do something for me."

"OK. What is it?" Stephen asked.

"Will you trust me on this?"

"What do you mean?"

"I can't tell right now. You have to come with me and see for yourself."

"See what?" Stephen asked suspiciously.

"What you'll have to do in order to get the house, of course!"

"I don't know." Stephen was unsure about this.

"Are you afraid of a pregnant woman who is smaller and weaker than you?"

"I'm not afraid of you. I'm afraid of what I'll have to do, that's it. It's nothing against the law, is it? Or something dangerous?"

"Of course not! Who do you think I am? No! I just want to introduce you to someone."

"Who?"

"The only family I have left."

"Your brother?"

"Yes. Jimmy lives in New York, but when David went missing I called him for help. We are going to meet him and then he'll let you know what we need from you, OK? If you don't want, you just have to say no."

"Well, if that's what it takes for me to get the house..."

"OK, come on. Let's go. You drive." Abelia said, standing up from the couch and throwing the car key on his hands.

"Will you at least tell me where are we going?" Stephen got up from the armchair and followed her to the chilling night.

"You'll see soon enough."

* * *

John woke up in a darkened room, feeling a throbbing, sickening pain on his head. He almost wanted to drift off to sleep again to avoid the pain. But a strong feeling of danger had him trying to go back into consciousness. The simple act of opening his eyes was so painful, that he stayed with his eyes closed, while trying to remember what had happened. But the excruciating pain didn't allow him to think or focus on anything else. So, he started breathing through the pain. As a doctor, he knew that breath therapy could help to reduce pain and anxiety. He breathed in through his nose, paused and breathed out through his mouth, taking long, deep breaths for a while and then slowly returning to a normal pace.

After quite a while, he tried to open his eyes again and focus on his surroundings and suddenly all the events that lead him to this situation came back to him. He tried to touch the wound on his head to check the extent of the damage but he couldn't. He was laying on a king size bed with his hands handcuffed to the headboard. He tried to get his hands free, but the handcuffs were too tight on his wrists.

He started to feel panicked and focus on his breathing again. He heard an engine noise outside that started low and began to increase gradually. Someone was approaching the house with a motorcycle. The bedroom's door suddenly opened and Jimmy entered the room, looking at him and noticing he was awake. As Jimmy approached the bed, John could sees he had a duct tape on his hands.

"No!" John's hoarse voice managed to say, almost a whisper.

But Jimmy was already tearing a piece of tape with his teeth, and gagging John with it. Then he leaned against the door's frame to listen to the conversation that was now coming from downstairs.

John could hear Abelia talking to a man, who was not happy to find her there. She called him Stephen. "It's David's lover". John thought. Jimmy was listening attentively to the conversation, so John started to look around searching for something he could use to get himself free from the handcuffs. While he was looking around, he also was trying to listen to the conversation.

John was in the middle of the bed. His arms were raised above his head and handcuffed to a beautiful iron headboard. Above the headboard, on the wall, there was a large window through which he could see the full moon and a lot of stars. It wasn't raining anymore. The bedside table on his left was decorated with a lampshade, more photos from David and Stephen, and some detective, mystery and suspense books. He could see Stephen King's book Gerald's Game, one of his favorites, and some other detective books he didn't recognize. The bedside table on his right was decorated with a simple wooden vase with a dried flowers arrangement. On the wall opposite to the door, he could see a desk with a computer, many papers and office objects, including paper clips and a scissor. But the desk was too far from the bed.

He wouldn't be able to pick up something to help him to get free from the handcuffs, at least not while Jimmy was in the room. The only other option would be to get Stephen's attention by making some noise. If he managed to kick down the books on the bedside table to the floor, he would be able to get Stephen's attention. But would it be wiser? Or it would only put someone else's life in danger? He had to decide quickly, because Abelia was trying to get him out of the house. Oh, God, what Abelia wanted with Stephen? He had to try to warn him, but how? Jimmy seemed to sense his stress, because he turned around and looked at him. He asked for silence by bringing his index finger in front of his mouth. John listened as they left the house, shutting the front door behind them.

"I'm sorry but I have to go now." Jimmy said as soon as Abelia and Stephen were gone. "May I borrow your car? You came here by car, didn't you? You are not a motorcycle kind of guy, like Stephen." Jimmy started searching into John's pockets for the car keys. He found John's wallet and sorted through its contents, dropping some of his cards. "I think I'm going to take this too." He put the wallet in his own pocket, picked up the dropped cards and resumed his searching for the keys.

John tried to speak through the tape on his mouth. He couldn't let Jimmy leave him here like this. God knew when they would be able to return and if they would return at all. He started to squirm to get his attention, but Jimmy ignored him. He found the keys and smiled. "Well, now where did you parked? Let me guess. If I was a doctor driving through the woods to save the damsel's life, what would I do so the villain wouldn't be able to see me or my car?" He stood up and headed to the door. "I would park into the woods, as soon as I saw the clearing, am I right?" He smiled kindly. "Have a good night." And he was gone.

* * *

"Fuck!" Sherlock said to his cell phone, finishing the call, while Lestrad moved his eyes from the road to look at his friend.

"What?" Sherlock asked, noticing the wide-eyed detective looking at him.

"You swore!" Lestrad said in disbelief.

"And?"

"You never swear."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't! I didn't even realize that you know this word, or what it means."

"I can't find John. He's not answering his phone. I called his secretary, I called Mrs. Hudson. I even called his sister, for Christ's sake! Nobody heard from him since this morning. I called the agency where he rented his car and ask them to track the vehicle, but they said the GPS was not working. They can't track him."

"When he called me, he told me that Abelia's house was empty and the police was arriving. Do you think somebody was still there and took him?" Lestrad asked, his attention back to the road.

"I don't know. How much time till we get there?"

"We're almost there, don't worry. We're already in the city limits."

"Stephen is also not answering his phone. Samantha can't find him."

"Do you think he has something to do with Abelia's and John's disappearance?"

"I can't just guess, Lestrad! I have to observe and deduce. I need facts! I need to examine the crime scene in order to get to any conclusions!"

"OK! Sorry!"

Lestrad approached Abelia's house and parked near the other police cars. A middle aged man, with gray hair and bald on the top of his head was talking to an old woman with a small dog full of hair bows in her arms. As soon as the man saw them getting out of the car, he went to meet them.

"You must be Lestrad and Sherlock. I'm detective Brown." He said shaking Sherlock's and Lestrad's hands.

"Actually, I'm Lestrad and he's Sherlock. What did you get for us?" Lestrad asked, following detective Brown to Abelia's house.

"The glass on the bay window is broken. Probably the kidnapper entered the house from here." Detective Brown said, leading the way across the grass. "The front door wasn't locked, though. Maybe they left the house through the front door."

Sherlock crouched in front of the window and looked at the shards of glass on the muddy ground and bushes nearby. Since it had been raining all morning, the grass and the soil were wet. He could see footprints on the muddy ground, next to the broken window.

He stood up and tried to look through the broken window, at the dinner room, avoiding approaching too much. He could see muddy footprints on the floor, inside the house, but there wasn't any shard of broken glass there.

They headed to the front door and entered the house. Sherlock noticed that there was no sign of forced entrance on the front door and the key was hanging on the inner lock. He followed the footprints through the house on the ground floor, then climbing the stairs and finally into Abelia's bedroom, where the footprints were fainted but still visible.

Sherlock saw the bullet on the wall and tried to place himself on the spot where probably the shooter fired it. It was a corner next to the window, where there wasn't any furniture. Then he looked to the floor to see the footprints on that area. There wasn't any. Intrigued, he picked up his flashlight and his magnifier and started to look for footprints and their exact location. Sherlock took his time analyzing the footprints he had found under the desk. Then he picked up a notepad from his pocket and drafted the places where the footprints were disposed on the bedroom.

All the while, detective Brown and Lestrad watched him work without interfere, as Lestrad knew, Sherlock would be very mad if they did.

When he was satisfied with the draft, he resumed the analyses on the crime scene. He took a look on the desk, where a laptop cord was plugged to the power outlet, but the connector wasn't attached to a laptop. He noticed the overthrown bedside table, the broken door on the bathroom, many photo albums thrown on the bed and the ax.

"These albums were on the bed when we got here." Detective Brown told him.

Sherlock looked all of them. There were photos from Abelia since her childhood. All the photos had legends explaining who the people on the photos were and their names, along with hearts and stickers of all kind.

"This is weird." Sherlock said, closing the last album.

"What?" Lestrad asked.

"Abelia has a brother called Jimmy, who brought her home yesterday."

"Yes." Detective Brown answered.

"There are no photos of Jimmy or her parents in Abelia's albums. When we get back to London I need to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Anderson again. I need to find out what they know about Abelia and her family." Sherlock closed the albums and looked outside through the window, at the other houses nearby.

"Did you ask the neighbors if they saw anything?" Sherlock asked detective Brown.

"Nobody saw anything out of ordinary. Abelia arrived yesterday with her brother. She went to Mrs. Jones' to get her dog back. She introduced her brother Jimmy to her and then, he left the house. Abelia was alone."

"What about Abelia's car? They get here on her car? Jimmy left on her car?" Sherlock asked.

"Mrs. Jones said that Jimmy took a cab. Abelia's car was parked outside until noon, when Mrs. Jones went out for lunch. When she got home later, the car was gone."

They worked in the crime scene through the night, interviewing neighbors, collecting clues, examining every corner of the house. The sun was already rising when, overcome by exhaustion, they finally sat down on the kitchen for a cup of coffee and some pastries and bagels, which a police officer brought them.

"Have you come to any conclusions, yet?" Lestrad asked Sherlock, while taking a bite of his bagel.

"Only that Abelia was not kidnapped." Sherlock answered, sipping his coffee.

"What? Are you sure?" Lestrad asked with his mouth full.

"Obviously. I wouldn't say it if I wasn't sure." Sherlock was in a bad mood for the lack of sleep.

"May I ask you how did you come to that conclusion?" Detective Brown asked, skeptic.

"First of all, the only one who entered the house through the broken window was John. The footprints all over the place belong to him. Well, if he entered the house through the broken window, we can deduce that the door was locked when he got here. John is not as stupid as most people. He would try the door first. But now the door is open and the key is on the locker. So we can also deduce that he's found the key and left the house through the front door."

"How do you know the footprints belong to John and not the kidnapper?" Detective Brown asked, thankfully, because Lestrad had the same question, but wasn't willing to ask.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes. "Isn't it obvious? According to Lestrad, Abelia and John were talking on the phone, when they heard a noise and she said someone was on her house. He was five minutes from her house. When he arrived she was already gone. The footprints indicate that someone entered the house through the window, looked at every room on the ground floor, climbed the stairs, did the same on the first floor, and then headed to Abelia's bedroom."

"On the bedroom we can see the footprints near the closet, the drawers, and the bedside table, on the bathroom and under the desk, meaning that the person walked all over the place looking for something. He even sat down on the desk, where the footprints indicate that someone with fidgety feet stayed there for a while, probably searching through a laptop or something like that, which was attached to the cord we've seen there."

"It is unlikely that the kidnapper would have time to do it all and still take Abelia with him before John arrived. Besides, there were no footprints on the place the shoot was fired, meaning that the shooter was not leaving footprints, so he didn't enter through the window."

"So, what you are saying is that the kidnapper didn't enter the house through the broken window, and..." Lestrad started but Sherlock cut him off.

"What I am saying is that there was no kidnapping. She forged it. The window was broken from the inside, since all the shards of glass fell outside. If the window had indeed been broken from outside, at least some of the shards of glass would have fall inside the dinner room."

"Maybe the kidnapper entered the house by the front door, so he didn't leave footprints, but left the house through the broken window." Detective Brown said pensively.

Sherlock gaped at him and Lestrad intervened. "How he would pass Abelia through the window? And why? Besides, the footprints show that someone was entering, not exiting."

"She or they (in case her brother was involved) left through the front door and locked it. Who would risk being seen while kidnapping someone, just to be able to lock the door?" Sherlock asked.

The landline phone on Abelia's house rang. They looked at the telephone set hanging on the kitchen's wall, surprised. Detective Brown answered the call.

"Hello?" He said and listened to the person on the other end. "Her brother is not here. I'm detective Brown from Cambridge police station." He paused. "What?" He asked looking at Lestrad and Sherlock. "Ok, can you give me the address?" He took a pen and a notepad from his pocket and started to write down the address. "Thank you." He finished the call.

"It was from the hospital. Abelia was found and she is hurt."

* * *

**Next chapter: **Sherlock meets Jimmy, gets really angry at him and has to be escorted out of the building by the security guard. Abelia accuses Stephen of kidnap and murder, but he is missing.

**Following chapters:** Sherlock finally finds out a clue about where John might be and hopes he isn't too late.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes: **Ladies and gentlemen, here is chapter nine! Thank you again for reading, thank you for favoriting, thank you for the reviews and the messages, and thank you for following. OMG, nine chapters done, three more to go (and an epilogue)! I hope you all enjoy this one.

Not betaed. All errors are mine. But if you see something wrong, you can tell me so I can fix it on the next update.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock.

**Warning:** A little smut, maybe? No, not really. Just a sexy scene. Not that explicit. And they were interrupted, anyway. But if you want to skip, stop reading when Jimmy enters the hotel room and goes to the bathroom.

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Jimmy entered the smoky bar, heading towards the counter. It was pretty late and some of the usual customers had already gone, remaining only a group of friends from a nearby office, playing on the pool table.

Sam, the blond and short bartender rolled his eyes as soon as he saw Jimmy approaching.

"Hello, Samwise Gamgi! Where is Frodo?" Jimmy asked smirking, while climbing the stool.

"Charlie isn't working today. And you better stop calling him that, 'cause his patience is wearing thin and you're going to end up with a black eye soon enough." Sam said, without stopping his activities behind the counter.

"Is his patience wearing thin or is yours?" Jimmy asked, looking at the people drinking and having fun on the pool table.

"I have more things to worry about than some guy trying to be funny." Sam said with a stern look on his face.

"If he wants me to stop calling him that, he could get himself a proper haircut. And maybe growing up a few inches would help, too!" Jimmy said turning his back to the pool table and leaning on the counter. "Give me the usual, Samwise."

"OK, but it'll be only this one. We're closing." Sam said, picking up a bottle of whiskey from the shelf. "And when are you going back to the States, by the way?" Sam asked handing the whiskey.

"Why are you asking? Do you wanna get rid of me?" Jimmy asked, raising his eyebrow.

"Me? Of course not! You are my best customer ever." Sam said sarcastically.

Jimmy drank his whiskey in one big gulp, grimacing.

"Where is my girl? Did you see her tonight?" He asked hoarsely.

"Yes, she was here waiting for you. But it's got late and she's got bored."

"I was trying to solve a problem for my sister. But it took longer than I predicted."

"She is waiting for you on her hotel room."

"Thank you Sam." Jimmy picked up the money for the whiskey and for a generous tip from his wallet and deposited them on the counter. "If somebody asks, I was not here today. Or ever."

Jimmy exited the bar and walked two blocks in the dark street of an unsafe suburb in North West London. He stopped in front of a small hotel and looked up at the windows on the third floor. The lights were on. He smiled and entered the hotel, waving at the doorman and heading to the staircase. He went up the stairs, two steps at a time, until he got on the third floor.

He picked up a key from his pocket and opened the door on room 35. It was a small room with a kitchenette, a small living room with a couch and a TV, and a bedroom with a bathroom. The kitchenette and the small living room were empty, so Jimmy headed to the bedroom door. He opened it slowly. The bedroom was empty too, so he walked to the bathroom, which was lighted. He stopped by the door and looked inside. A redhead woman was by the sink, looking at the mirror. Her hair was slightly damp, her curls falling on her shoulders. She was moisturizing her face with some expensive cream, judging by the bottle, and singing softly. She was dressed in a black silk nightgown that accentuated the curves of her body.

"Beautiful." Jimmy said, suddenly entering the bathroom. He stopped behind her and buried his fingers on her hair, grasping the curls and bringing her head back, exposing her neck. "Did you miss me?" He whispered on her ear, looking at her on the mirror. She tried to turn around to face him, but he hold her in place with his free hand, bringing his body closer, pressing her body to the sink. He started kissing her neck, one hand still on her hair, while the other slowly slid down her body.

"Where have you been? I tried to call you all day and..." She closed her eyes and let out a soft moan.

"I've been too busy." He answered between kisses, releasing her hair to shove his hand inside her nightgown to caress her boobs.

She finally managed to turn around and kiss him deeply on the lips. They parted after a while, looking each other in the eyes.

"You could have texted me, then." She said, slowly falling on her knees, always looking at him in the eyes.

"I was in the countryside. There was no cell phone service there." He fisted her hair again and closed his eyes in pleasure, groaning and holding the border of the sink tightly with his other hand. "Oh! I missed you so much, baby!"

His cell phone began to ring on his pocket and they both freeze for a moment, looking at each other.

"It's OK, Karen. It's Abelia's ringtone. Please go on!" He picked his cell phone from his pocket. "Hello?"

Karen looked at him in disbelief, yet on her knees. "Are you going to answer?"

"It's important, baby. But you can continue, I don't mind." Jimmy whispered while listening to the other end on his cell phone.

"You don't mind?" She shouted, getting up from the floor and leaving the bathroom, closing the door with a bang.

Jimmy entered the bedroom a few minutes later, after finishing the call. He headed to the bed, approaching the very angry woman, who was under the duvet.

"I'm sorry. It was important. I'll make it up to you now." Jimmy said while trying to plant soft kisses on her shoulder, just to be shoved away.

"Stop! I'm not in the mood anymore. Go away, I want to sleep. I have to get up early." Karen said, turning her back on him.

"You don't mean it." Jimmy said slipping under the duvet and spooning her.

"Do you know how long I've been waiting for you in that shithole bar? All damn night! You said you wouldn't be late!"

"I said I'm sorry! I'm in the middle of something important! And it's not that late!" He said looking at his watch.

"I don't know why I agreed to this! You hardly ever come to London. And I bet you have a girl in each country you visit on business!"

"Are you jealous?" He said kissing her softly on the lips.

"What do you want from me, Jimmy?" She said angrily, noticing he was lying on her bed with all his clothes on. "Go take a shower at least! You are disgusting!"

"I need you to get some information for me. From a guy." He said burying his nose on her hair and breathing deeply. He always loved her perfumed red curly hair.

"What kind of information? And why don't you get the information yourself? You sure know how to get information from people."

"I've tried. He's not cooperating. I'm losing my patience. And you know what happens when I lose patience."

"So, you want me to seduce a guy into telling me his secrets."

"I just want you to befriend him." Jimmy said, caressing her body, under the duvet. "Make him trust you. He's gay anyway. You'll not be able to seduce him. I kidnapped him and I may have been a little carried away while trying to get the information. He's badly hurt. All you have to do is pretend you are a good girl camping in the forest with some friends, who happen to get lost and find him on that little cabin I put him on. He's not going anywhere because I think I broke his leg. So you offer to get help. But before you go, you'll get the information for me."

"And once I get the information you need, are you going to kill him?"

"Of course."

"This is something big. I'll need much more than a thank you for this."

"There's more. Do you remember when I told you about Abelia's fiancée, who was cheating on her?"

"Yes. David. Cute guy."

"He's dead."

"Did you kill David?" Karen said wide-eyed. "I can't believe you did this! Why?"

"And we are going to accuse this guy, Stephen. We faked Abelia's kidnapping. She'll tell the police she was kidnapped by Stephen, who was David's lover."

"I'm sorry, what? I didn't get that. Who was David's lover?"

"Stephen."

"Oh, my dear God! David was gay?" Karen said surprised. "Poor Abelia!"

"Abelia will tell the police Stephen killed David and he was intending to kill her too, but a girl helped her to escape. That girl is you. You have to tell the police you helped her to escape, OK?"

"I don't know. I don't want anything to do with the police."

"Karen, listen to me. There's nothing to fear. Nobody knows we are friends except for the people here in the hotel and in the bar and they'll never tell anything, especially to the police. And you don't have to worry about Stephen's, because I intend to burn him in the cabin. There will be no body. The police will never find him and they'll believe he run away. Abelia will inherit a good amount of money, since she is pregnant from David, and we'll pay for your help. What do you say? I need your answer now, because we need to get back to the cabin as soon as possible. I want Abelia to be found in the morning and it's almost three hours journey to get there."

"If I say no…"

"You wouldn't dare, would you?"

"OK. Then, you should start paying me, don't you think?" Karen said rolling over to hold him.

"We don't have time for this! I still have to go to my hotel room to change clothes, before we go meet Abelia!" He said, although he couldn't get his hands off her.

"I think I can find you something to wear, don't worry!" She said while trying to take his hoodie out of him.

* * *

It'd been two days since John had gone missing. Sherlock had been investigating all the leads, including the man who David was suspecting before being murdered, but he was not close to finding out what happened to John or Stephen, who was also missing. He was extremely frustrated and snapped at anyone who dared to approach him. Even Mrs. Hudson had to endure his bad mood, when she walked into his living room to bring him some tea, while he was pacing and re-examining all the facts and clues they'd found until that moment. He'd kicked the poor woman out of the room without a second glance.

Worst of all was that he wasn't able to talk to Abelia and her brother Jimmy. Damn! Sherlock felt himself boiling with anger, while he was on his couch waiting for Lestrad, recollecting the events of the day before.

As soon as they had gotten the call in Abelia's house in Cambridge the previous morning, saying that Abelia had been found, Lestrad and Sherlock hurried to hospital. The journey took them almost four hours, since she was found way too far from Cambrigde, in south west England, in a forest area. Once they got there, they tried to contact her, but, although Lestrad had said he was a Scotland Yard detective, the doctors asked them to wait in the visitor lounge until all the procedures where done. So they waited. And waited. And waited.

After a quick lunch on the cafeteria, they returned to the obstetric ward, where Abelia had been admitted, and tried to talk to the nurses again. They were told that Mrs. and Mr. Anderson as well as Abelia's brother Jimmy had arrived at the hospital and had been allowed to Abelia's room. So, they insisted with the nurses once again that they needed to talk to her.

While they were talking a bit loud with a middle-age and extremely bored-looking nurse, who was saying she would see if one of the doctors would authorize their entrance, a man came from the double door that led to the family waiting room.

"What is this fuss about?" He stopped by the door, looking at them and the nurse, inquisitive. He was dressed in a simple button-down white shirt and black trousers. His face had some similarities with Abelia's, although he seemed to be a little older.

"Are you Abelia's brother?" Lestrad asked him, while Sherlock studied him in silence from head to toe, noticing a hickey on his neck. He also noticed that his clothes didn't seem to fit him. His trousers were a bit short on the legs and his shirt was a little tight. His combat boots didn't match with the more social outfit. So, he had got laid and those were not his clothes. He had to change for some reason. But what drew Sherlock's attention and made him concerned were Jimmy's hands. His knuckles were a bit red and swollen, as if he had hit something or someone repeatedly.

"Yes. Jim Hickman. You can call me Jimmy."

"I'm Detective Inspector Lestrad with the Scotland Yard. This is consulting detective Holmes. We are investigating David Anderson's murder." Lestrad said, shaking Jimmy's hand.

"How can I help you?"

"We need to talk to your sister."

"Is it really necessary, detective? She already gave her official statement to the local police. I don't see the need for another battery of stressing questions. It'll only make she revive the worse moment of her life."

"The questions we need to ask may not be the same as the local police did."

"I'm afraid you'll have to wait until she wakes up, then. She's finally resting now. The doctor said she has to avoid stressing situations. She almost lost her baby, you know?"

"I'm sorry to hear that, but I don't know if you are aware of the gravity of the situation. There's a man who's missing, and his disappearance may have something to do with Abelia's kidnapping. Any minute we waste may be a threat to his life. So, I really would prefer to talk to her with your consent, but if I need to use my authority to get to talk to her, I'll not hesitate on doing it."

"Detective, my main concern right now is my sister's and my nephew's well being. I'll allow you to talk to her, but only when she wakes up. You can wait in the family waiting room if you want, but you." Jimmy pointed to Sherlock. "You'll have to wait outside, in the visitor lounge."

"Excuse me?" Sherlock asked, surprised. He had been thinking about the questions he needed to ask both Abelia and Jimmy, preferably apart from each other.

"You are not from the police are you? You are a private detective or something?"

"Consulting detective!"

"Whatever. You wait outside. I don't want a lot of people crowding her room."

"John's life is in danger. I don't have the time or the patience for this." Sherlock said as he walked around Jimmy, heading to the family waiting room, behind the double door, which gave access to the rooms in the obstetric ward.

"Hey!" Jimmy screamed running after Sherlock, who was already in the hall, opening each and every door he was finding on his way and peeking inside, looking for Abelia's room. The noise drew the attention of the nurses and some patients who were on labor. As they passed the nearest nurse, Jimmy cried "Don't just stand there! Call the security guard!" And the nurse ran to the nurse station to do exactly that.

When Sherlock finally reached Abelia's room, he was able to notice that she was awake, eating a jelly and being pampered by Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. Apart from a black and swollen eye and some bruises, she seemed to be well enough to endure an interrogation, so he entered the room, but Jimmy and two guys from the security guard where right behind him and asked him to leave the hospital immediately.

Sherlock tried to argue and looked at Lestrad, silently asking for support, but when he found none, he let himself be escorted out of the building by the security guard, who was scolding him for disturbing the patients.

As he had been banned from the hospital grounds, it fell to Lestrad to stay in the hospital and interview Abelia, while Sherlock took a ride back to London with Mr. and Mrs. Anderson to find out what they knew about the siblings. It turned out that they didn't know much about Abelia's past, because it hurt her to talk about it, especially the years she lived alone with her uncle.

She had lost her parents when she was ten years old and her brother was thirteen. They ended up living with an uncle they didn't know, because he never went to visit them while Abelia's father was alive. Abelia's father had had a huge fight with his brother and they never talked to each other again. When they lost their parents in a car accident, Abelia's uncle took them to live in the country with him and his family, which consisted of an aunt and three cousins.

Abelia told that it wasn't a healthy home for them to live. Her uncle used to drink too much and become violent. They were bullied by their older cousins. Jimmy started to practice martial arts in school to learn to defend himself and his sister from the bullies. Abelia said he became a violent boy in order to survive. But with time, he started to enjoy violence. He would always get revenge on the bullies in a cruel, almost sadistic way. But he always protected her. All they wanted was to come of age to be able to take their part in the inheritance and get out of that house.

When Jimmy finally turned eighteen, he went to live in United States, working for a big private security company and, after a while, he managed to go to Law School. Abelia never forgave him for leaving her behind. She had to live three more years with her drunken uncle. Meanwhile, her aunt divorced him and took her children away, leaving Abelia and her uncle alone in that house. Abelia never talked about those years.

When she turned eighteen, she moved to London, she went to an Art School and worked in a gallery. Mrs. Anderson met her in a charity event to help orphan children and they became friends. Abelia and Jimmy had never talked to each other again and Mrs. Anderson took on the mission to talk Abelia into making amends with her brother.

It was only when she started dating David that she finally agreed to talk to her brother again, calling him. They slowly build up their relationship again and when she got pregnant, Abelia even went to United States, for Thanksgiving. There she learned that her brother managed to grow professionally in the private security company. The company was responsible for take care of the security in big events worldwide. Jimmy was now a business manager and had many contacts in many countries. So when David's life was threatened, she told him and he offered to help. Initially she refused, but when David went missing, she asked for his help. That's when Mr. and Mrs. Anderson managed to meet him, although, as Sherlock managed to discover, neither David nor Stephen had ever meet him.

* * *

So now, two days after John's disappearance, Lestrad came to meet him on Baker Street, so they could exchange what they had found on their investigation. It was getting dark outside and Sherlock's previous anger was replaced by depression. Lestrad was standing in front of him, handing him a cup of coffee and a muffin. "You need to eat something, Sherlock. And you need to sleep. It won't do us any good if you pass out from the lack of food in your body."

"I failed him, Lestrad. I failed John." Sherlock said defeated, picking up the coffee and ignoring the muffin.

"You don't know that. We still can find him, have some faith." Lestrad said, taking a bite of the muffin.

"You are from Scotland Yard, Lestrad. You know the chances to find a missing person after two days decrease drastically."

"John is a military doctor. He knows how to take care of himself." Lestrad said, sitting down beside Sherlock on the couch.

"I think he may be badly hurt. Jimmy may have hit him. Did you notice his hands?"

"I could arrest them. We already know they are lying about the kidnapping."

"NO! I need to find out what happened to John, first. Give me one more day! They need to think we bought their story."

"OK. What are you going to do?"

"Tell me again what she told you."

"You already know everything she told me!"

"Tell me again!"

"She said she was kidnapped from her home by Stephen. He entered her house through the broken window while she was talking with John on her cell phone. He was armed and he shot the wall as a warning. He took her on her own car. She told that they stopped for gas, in some petrol station, and then he took her to a cabin by the lake, in the woods." Lestrad said, when suddenly he remembered something. "Oh! I have something to show you. We managed to get the footage from the petrol station. I have it here on my cell phone."

Lestrad picked his cell phone out of his pocket. He accessed his e-mails and opened the last message from the police department in Taunton. He opened the video linked to the message.

"We clearly see the car parking in the petrol station, next to the pump." Lestrad narrates the footage. "Stephen is driving. He gets out of the car, and then he goes to market, leaving Abelia inside the car. The passenger's door opens and Abelia gets out of the car. We can see that her left arm is handcuffed to the door handle."

"She probably handcuffed herself to the handle after Stephen got out of the car." Sherlock pointed out.

"Probably. Look! She seems to be looking for something. She finds the camera and she silently mouths HELP. Stephen is coming back from the shop. Abelia enters the car and closes the door. He takes a gasoline gallon from the trunk and fills it in the pump. He pays in cash and they go."

"So instead of fuelling the car in the gas pump, he fills a gasoline gallon." Sherlock said thoughtfully. "How she managed to escape again?"

"She said Stephen locked her in a cabin by the lake. According to her, he was doing it out of jealousy, because David was going to marry her and they were going to have a kid. He killed David after a fight. Now he wanted burn the cabin, killing her and himself. She told he was out of his mind."

"So that's what the gasoline gallon was for. To burn the cabin." Sherlock said.

"A redhead girl named Karen was camping nearby with a friend. She wanted to go for a walk in the woods but her friend didn't want to go with her. So she went alone. She started following the lakeshore, so she wouldn't get lost. After two hours walking, she was about to return when she heard two people arguing and she followed the sound until she found the cabin. She saw a man leave the cabin, get into a car and go. She looked through window and saw a woman tied to a wooden beam. She managed to enter the cabin and release Abelia by cutting the ropes with a Swiss Army Knife. Karen and Abelia walked back to the campsite. Once they got there, Karen and her friend took Abelia to the nearest hospital."

"Did you talk to Karen?"

"Yes. She was very upset. She told the police the location of the cabin. And she identified Stephen as the man who was in the cabin with Abelia."

"OK, listen to me, Lestrad. There are three important things we need to do now. First, I need you to find out everything about Karen."

"I'm already on it."

"Second, you said they were not able to break into David's laptop yet. I need to try it myself. And third, I want to see the cabin where Abelia was kept. Give me the location, so I can go before they mess up all the evidences."

"I can give you the location, but you'll not be able to see anything, since there is no cabin anymore."

"What?"

"The cabin was burned down. There are only ashes on its place now."

* * *

**Next chapter: **Sherlock breaks the password to David's laptop and finds out the reason for his murder. He also finds out about David's and Stephen's cottage, but will they get there in time to save John?

**Following chapters:** Someone's life hangs by a thread. Sherlock and Jimmy final contest ends up in a fight (who wins?).


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes: **Hello, everybody! Here's chapter ten. I loved writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it just as much. And OMG, I loved your reviews and messages from last chapter! I think I'm going to use some of your great ideas on my next stories, **Arty Diane** (if you don't mind, of course)!

Not betaed. All errors are mine. But if you see something wrong, you can tell me so I can fix it on the next update.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock.

**Warning:** Graphic description of a crime scene.

* * *

**Chapter 10**

Four police cars sped down the unpaved road with their sirens and lights on. As they reached a clearing in the woods, where a beautiful cottage could be seen, bathed in the early morning sunlight, they stopped and the police officers from the first three cars got out, with their guns in hands, shielding themselves behind the cars' doors.

The officer in command, a big afro-descendant man named Steve, who was in the last car, got out from the driver's seat, followed by the two other occupants of the car, Lestrad and Sherlock. With a wave of his hand, Steve gave the order to proceed and four of the police officers headed to the front door while two of them remained in their places, behind the cars' doors. Once in the front door, two of the officers signalized they were going to take the back entrance.

"Police! Open the door!" One of the officers shouted, pointing his gun at the front door. As there was no answer, the first police officer opened the door, which was already slightly opened, and pointed his gun at the living room, getting into the house slowly and scanning the room carefully.

With his gun on his hands, the officer in command headed to the front door, followed by Lestrad and Sherlock.

"Where do you think you're going?" Lestrad asked Sherlock, who was right behind him. "Go back to the car and wait there! You are not armed!" Lestrad whispered, but as Sherlock didn't seem to be moving from his spot anytime soon, Lestrad said louder "Go! Now!"

Hesitantly and frustrated, Sherlock took some steps back, while Lestrad entered the house after Steve. Sherlock saw a motorcycle parked not far from the front door, with a helmet hanging on its handlebar. It was the only vehicle nearby, besides the police cars. He approached the Harley Davidson and examined it. There were blood stains on the handlebar and on the seat. He took up the helmet and examined it. It was a simple black helmet and it hadn't any marks to identify the owner. Sherlock looked at the bike's number plate. He noticed by the code area that it was a motorcycle from London. He picked up a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket and wrote down the plate. He returned to the first police car, where the two officers stood behind the doors, pointing their guns at the house.

"I need you to check out that motorcycle registration." Sherlock said pointing the bike and handing the paper to the officer behind the passenger's door, who looked at his partner behind the driver's door, waiting for his permission. The other officer nodded, allowing him to enter the car to operate the radio.

Sherlock saw Lestrad on the front door, giving him permission to enter the house. "As soon as you find out the owner, come to tell me." Sherlock said to the officer and headed to the front door to meet Lestrad. They entered the house and started looking around the living room.

Sherlock noticed David's personal touch on the decoration with all the photos and art objects around the room. But the harmony and beauty of the room had been broken by some blood stains that could be seen on the floor and on the walls. The handle of the front door was also covered in blood and there were some bloodied footprints on the floor, as if someone had stepped in some blood and walked through the house living the footprints.

Sherlock picked up a photo from a shelf, where he could see Stephen in the same motorcycle he had seen outside.

"I think you might want to see this." Steve said from upstairs. Sherlock put down the photo and followed Lestrad upstairs, to meet the officer in the bedroom. While they climbed the stairs, they noticed that the handrail was also bloodstained.

The main bedroom was a nice, spacious suite, with a king size bed, several books on a bedside table and a desk by the wall. But what got their attention was the blood covering the sheets on the bed. The window glass was broken, shards of glass covering the upper part of the bed. The smell in the room was nauseating, a mix of blood and urine.

Sherlock carefully approached the bed and started to examine the scene.

"Whoever was here is badly injured." Lestrad said following a trail of blood that leaded to the bathroom.

"Or dead." Steve said, looking at all the blood and the shards of glass on the bed. "Now, we have two missing persons, John and Stephen. Who was here? And where is he now? Or his body?" He asked.

"The bike outside belongs to Stephen." Sherlock said kneeling beside the bed to take a look on the detective books that were on the floor. They had probably fallen from the bedside table.

"But this house belongs to him, doesn't it? So, the bike being here doesn't mean anything. He could keep the bike here to make quick trips to the village. It doesn't mean all this blood belongs to him." Lestrad conjectured.

"It's a Harley Davidson. I doubt he would keep it here just for quick trips." Sherlock saw a small picture on the floor and he bent down to grab it. It was a passport sized photo, with a woman smiling to the camera.

"John was here." He said showing the photo to Lestrad. "This photo used to be in his wallet."

"It's his sister." Lestrad said, recognizing the woman in the photo.

* * *

**24 hours earlier**

Sherlock was in front of a laptop, sitting at David's desk in his office at Anderson's Company. He was staring at the password screen for almost one hour now, but he didn't dare to type any password yet. He looked at Charlie, who was standing by the door, with angry eyes again. Charlie seemed to shrink under the intense gaze. Sherlock was mad at him. He was the forensic officer who had lost two attempts of typing the correct password, while the forensics were trying to break the laptop password. Now Sherlock had only one attempt left.

Lestrad and Samantha were in the office too, in complete silence, only answering Sherlock's questions. He had asked questions about when Stephen and David usually celebrated their first date, what was Stephen's cell phone number and if they had any pet names for each other. He tried to combine the numbers and the letters in his head, but nothing seemed right.

"Maybe it's something simple, like Stephen's birthday?" Lestrad dared to ask.

"David liked detective books and had an imaginative mind. He wouldn't use a simple password, which would be easily broken." Sherlock answered. He stood up from his chair and started pacing. "I want to be alone. Go away all of you!" He demanded and they hurried to comply.

"I'm going to a coffee shop for a quick breakfast. Do you want me to bring you something?" Lestrad asked from the door and only received a mortal glare in response. "OK, call me if you need me."

Once Sherlock was alone, he started to look around the office again, trying to get into David's mind. David loved detective books. There were plenty of them in the shelves. He loved decoration and expensive art objects. And he loved taking pictures from family and friends and spreading them all over the places. Sherlock had already noticed that Abelia's photos were disposed far away from his desk. But now he noticed that the nearest photo frame from the desk was a film-strip kind of frame, with eight little black and white photos of Stephen in sequence. In each photo, Stephen was with a friend. In the first photo he was holding Martha, the receptionist. Next, he was with a middle age blonde man whom Sherlock didn't recognize. Then he was with Samantha, both smiling to the camera. On the fourth, he was with Abelia, both serious and a little apart from each other. Then there was David. After that, there was Patty. The seventh photo, Stephen was alone holding a big black umbrella in a rainy day in downtown, and the last one was another photo of Stephen and Patty.

Sherlock stood there looking at the photo frame for a long time. Then he smiled, turned around and sat down in front of the laptop. He was about to type the password when he hesitated. If this cue was wrong, it would cost John's life. He picked up the phone and called the receptionist demanding her to send Samantha.

"The man in the second photo with Stephen." Sherlock pointed at the second photo on the strip, as soon as Samantha entered the office. "Who is he?"

Samantha looked at the photo. "His name is Yves Le Martin. He is a friend of both Stephen and David. He is a retired lawyer and lives in France. But why are you asking? Do you think he has something to do with David's death?" She asked quizzically.

"What the words _my sad pup_ mean?" Sherlock asked. "Have you ever heard them?"

Samantha looked at Sherlock astonished. "Stephen has this beautiful honey colored eyes. David used to say when Stephen looked at him with his big sad puppy eyes, he couldn't deny him anything, you know? But how..."

"I know the password." Sherlock cut her off and began to type the code. They both hold their breaths until Sherlock typed the last letter and pressed _enter._

* * *

"How did you break the password?" Lestrad asked, looking at the laptop screen, while Sherlock run through David's e-mails. He hadn't even managed to finish his breakfast and Sherlock had called him, telling he had broken the password. "That was fast!" Lestrad had thought, getting up from his table and leaving his half-eaten croissant behind.

"The photo frame with 8 photos of Stephen." Sherlock looked at the photos on the nearby shelf. "Each photo has a friend, except for the photo where he is with an umbrella. Maybe David didn't know anyone whose name begins with the letter _U_. The initials of each friend and the umbrella form the phrase _My sad pup._"

"Wow. This guy is really unbelievable." Lestrad said, examining the photo frame. "Did you find anything useful on his computer, yet?"

"Plenty. There are thousands of photos of David and Stephen. In most of them, they are in a place, a kind of country house. I asked Samantha where this place is, but she didn't know." Sherlock opened the photo file and showed several pictures of David and Stephen in a beautiful house. "These photos are intimate. They are carefree. Look at this one here. They are kissing. And they printed some of these photos and placed them on this country house." Sherlock double clicked a picture where they could see a living room decorated with photos of David and Stephen. "David didn't want anybody to know he was gay. But he felt comfortable enough to place these pictures around the living room."

"We investigate all David's and Stephen's properties. There was no country house or cottage registered in David's or Stephen's name." Lestrad said.

"If it was their secret place, and David didn't want his parents to know about it, maybe it's been registered in someone else's name."

"A country house is a perfect place to hiding someone. We need to check this place out. Something else?"

"Yes. I've been reading David's e-mails. There are thousands of e-mails here and he doesn't even have a separated file for spams. They go straight to his inbox! I don't know how he can find something here! But he does have a separate file for the e-mails he exchanges with his friend Yves, the second in the photo frame with Stephen. Yves is a lawyer and David's close friend. Their friendship seems to date back to when David was in college and Yves used to give lectures there." Sherlock closed the photos and opened the e-mails.

"And Yves knows about David's sexual orientation. I've found e-mails from before he met Abelia. He says he was in a relationship with Stephen, but he didn't want anybody to know, especially his parents. He asks Yves to study a way to give Stephen the same guaranties as if they were legally married. He wanted to provide him financial support, in case of his death, so he wanted Stephen to inherit some of his estate. But he knew his parents would challenge the will and Stephen would end up with nothing. It was Yves idea for them to start a company together. Yves also advised him to start buying gold, a little at a time, in order to not arouse his parents' suspicions, and to keep it in a bank vault. In case something happened to him, Stephen would be able to use the gold as a safe haven asset. He has been doing it since they got together again five years ago, and even when he was dating Abelia, he kept doing it. He says clearly in the e-mails that he was not intending to marry Abelia, even when she got pregnant. And look at this e-mail here. This one was sent when he was being threatened. He tells Yves he is afraid something would happen to him, and asks Yves to assure that, in this case, Stephen would get the gold he saved for him. His unborn child was already in the will."

"If the money is the reason for David's murder, then can we deduce Jimmy and Abelia knew about the vault? Maybe they knew David's password and read the e-mails?" Lestrad conjectured. "And Abelia would have known David had no intention to marry her."

"That's possible, and would explain a lot. David asked Yves not to tell anyone about the vault, including Stephen. And only three people have authorized access to the vault. David, Stephen and Yves. So, what we need to know now is the location of the vault. Then, we need to keep surveillance on the bank to see if someone tries to access the vault."

"So we need to talk to Yves."

* * *

Samantha was worried to death. His best friend was missing and she didn't know if he was OK, or even if he was still alive. First David and now Stephen? And to add insult to injury, the news that Abelia was kidnapped by Stephen had gotten to the office and became the main topic on the rest room gossips. How could people believe that bullshit? They worked with Stephen every day, for God's sake! She needed to make them see there was no way Stephen would kidnap Abelia or beat her up. He was a kind hearted guy, despite his black leather jackets and his taste for motorcycles.

But for now she would have to leave that asside. She had been busy all morning with a more important task. Sherlock had given her a mission: find Yves. And she had been trying all morning. Yves lived in France, but she found out he was out of country giving a lecture in an international congress in Vienna this week. He was not answering his cell phone. But she didn't give up. She spent all morning trying to reach him, even calling the congress headquarters. The woman who answered the call said he had to go home earlier and if he wasn't answering his phone, he should probably be on the plane. It was already afternoon when she finally managed to get him to answer his cell phone.

She hurried to pass the call to Sherlock, who was still in David's office with Lestrad, dissecting his e-mails and planning their next move.

"Yves I'll put you on speaker. I'm here with Samantha and detective inspector Lestrad with the Scotland Yard, in charge of David's case. Samantha told you About David's murder?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes I'm devastated. He was a very close friend." Yves answered with his French accent. "I was out of country giving a lecture, so I wasn't answering my phone. I read about David's death on the newspapers yesterday. I knew he was being threatened but the news about his murder really surprised me. Somehow I thought he would get through it."

"And Samantha told you Stephen is missing?" Sherlock asked, looking at Samantha, who nodded.

"Yes. As soon as I knew about David's death, I tried to contact Stephen, but he wasn't answering my calls and texts. I called the office and they said he didn't go to work. So I booked a flight back to London."

"Yves, we broke into David's laptop and accessed his e-mails. We know about the vault. Listen very carefully, if the man who killed David is after his money, this could be our chance to catch him. We need to know which bank is the vault." Sherlock said, slowly.

"Oh, God!" Yves moaned on the other end.

"What?" Samantha, Lestrad and Sherlock asked in unison.

"I think I screwed everything up! Oh, God!"

"What did you do?" Sherlock asked without patience.

"While I was boarding the plane, I kept trying to call Stephen. I finally managed to talk to him when the plane was about to take off, so I had to talk very quickly.

"Wait, did you talk to Stephen?" Samantha asked hopefully.

"Yes, this morning on the plane."

"So, he's alive! Thanks God!" Samantha said relieved.

"But I don't think he is OK. His voice was a bit weird. He said David was dead and he wanted to know if I knew where the key to David's vault was. That was when I noticed something was very wrong, because David never told Stephen about the vault. It was a secret. Nobody knew, but me. He only trusted me to take care of Stephen's interests, even against his own parents. We had everything planned. David wanted me to tell Stephen about the vault, only if something bad happened to him. Even in this case, I would have to wait until the worst of the grief period was over. David wanted him to be able to think clearly and make decisions about his future. So, how Stephen knew about the vault? And did he kill David to get the money? I confess that the possibility crossed my mind, but somehow I didn't believe that. I know Stephen for quite a while now. It's not him. He doesn't really care about money. David was the one who did. So, the other and more likely possibility was that whoever killed David must have gotten Stephen." Yves sighed.

"I had to act quickly to protect the money without putting Stephen's life in even greater danger. So, in order to buy some time, I told him where to find David's key, then I finished the call and called the bank. Unfortunately, I couldn't reach the manager, but I left a message asking him to make up an excuse and don't let Stephen access the vault. Maybe ask him to return later because the vault was in periodic maintenance or something. Then I had to turn off my cell phone for the worst two hours flight of my life. As soon as I landed, I took a cab to the bank and looked for the manager, who said he didn't get the message and let Stephen access the vault. The gold is gone. Stephen's life is probably not valuable anymore. And it's my entire fault! David just wanted me to take care of his soulmate and I..."

"Stephen was alone?" Sherlock cut him off.

"The manager said he entered the bank alone. He was in a wheelchair and had some bruises on his face. He said he had dislocated his ankle in a motorcycle accident. I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to worsen the situation!"

"Yves, stop!" Lestrad cut his rambling off. "You didn't do anything wrong. If you had refused to give him the location of the key, maybe he would be killed right then. At least you gave him some more time. Now we know he is still alive and in London. We have to hurry to find him before it's too late."

"One more thing, Yves. We need the address to David's cottage. I'll pass the call to Samantha. Give her the address, OK?" Sherlock passed the call to Samantha and turned to face Lestrad.

"What now?" Lestrad asked.

"Now we save a life. Maybe two." Sherlock said getting up from David's desk and closing the laptop. "We can't wait anymore. You need to send someone to arrest Jimmy and Abelia. And that woman who claims she found Abelia in the woods." He picked up the paper with the address which Samantha handed him.

"And what about us?" Lestrad asked following Sherlock out of David's office.

"We need to check that cottage out."

* * *

Angela was mad at her husband. Peter was doing that again. Ignoring her. "Are you even listening to me?" She asked, raising her voice to make sure he would listen this time.

"Of course!" Peter said, suddenly pushed out of his own thoughts.

"What did I just say?" She asked, turning on her seat to look straight at him.

"Uh, that your mother wants to visit this weekend?" He asked, trying hard to remember what they were talking about, before he turned his wife's voice down, and started answer her with mumbled monosyllables.

"I said that hours ago! I'm here talking to you for hours and you wouldn't even listen to me?" She asked angrily.

"I was just distracted! What did you say again, darling? I'm listening now." He said with the sweetest voice he could manage, trying to placate his wife's anger.

"Don't call me darling! I'm mad at you right now. And I told you to slow down or you're going to miss the turn." She said turning to look through her window, while their car sped down the deserted road.

"I know where the turn is. Don't' worry." He said looking for the turn that would lead to his parents little cottage.

"Last time you said that, we missed the turn and we got lost. It took us almost two hours to get to your parents'." She said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, but that time I was distracted because you wouldn't stop chatting." He said, losing his temper.

"Ooooh, so now it's my fault?" Angela could not believe how he always found a way to turn everything into her fault.

"That's not what I said."

"That's exactly what you said, Peter. And if you don't slow down right now, I swear to God, Peter, I'm going to get out of the car and go walking all the way to the cottage." Angela said very seriously, although both of them knew all too well that she would never do such thing, since the cottage was nearly 20 miles distant and it was almost 3 o'clock in the morning.

"Ok!" Peter said, slowing down the speed from 70 mph (113 km/h) to about 15 mph (24 km/h). "That's good enough for you?" He asked.

"That's not funny, Peter." She said looking nervous, as they approached a curve on the road.

"You told me to slow down. I did it. We'll never miss the turn now."

"Stop this, Peter. It's dangerous. If there is someone behind us when we get to the curve they'll not have time to brake. We'll get hit."

"This road is deserted at these late hours. There's nothing for miles, only trees."

"Really? So why is that man walking on the road if there's nothing for miles?" She pointed at a man who was walking on the road, half a mile ahead.

"That's strange."

"I think he's drunk. Look, he can't walk in a straight line. Maybe he just got out from a bar somewhere."

"Baby, the nearest bar is miles from here. And there're no houses or cottages in this road, only the woods. This man will have to walk hours in complete darkness to get somewhere. I think he may be in some kind of trouble." Peter said worried, while the car approached the man slowly.

"It's none of our business, Peter. Please speed up."

"We should ask him if he needs some help."

"Are you insane? He could kill us. Or worst. Have you never seen horror movies? What do you think could happen to cute couples like us, which stop to talk to creepy drunk strangers in dark deserted roads?"

"He is stumbling to the middle of the road! He's going to get hit by a car! I'm going to ask him if he needs help. Give me that flashlight." Peter tried to open the glove compartment.

"Peter, please no! What are you going to do if he points a gun at us? Hit him with the flashlight? Please, speed up." Angela said panicking.

They saw the man turning around and falling on his knees in the middle of the road. He raised his arms above his head, as to say he was disarmed. The lights from the car were blinding him. They noticed that a handcuff was hanging in one of the man's wrists while the other wrist was wrapped in a bloody cloth. The man was covered in blood.

The car stopped beside the man and Peter didn't lower his window, but he could clearly hear the man saying "Please, help!" and then the man fell to the ground unconscious.

* * *

**Next chapter: **Stephen's life is in danger and they race to find him before is too late. Abelia is finally confronted.

**Following chapters:** Sherlock has to make a hard decision: catch a murderer and let someone die? Or save a life and let a bad guy, who can kill again, escape?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes: **I'm sorry! I should have posted this chapter last weekend, but I had to work both last and this weekend and I simply couldn't get anywhere near my computer till now. And now my house is a mess and I really need to clean up, but I'm going to post this first.

Not betaed. All errors are mine. But if you see something wrong, you can tell me so I can fix it on the next update.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock.

**Warning:** Graphic description of a crime scene and injured people.

* * *

**Chapter 11**

_Sherlock carefully approached the bed and started to examine the scene._

_"Whoever was here was badly injured." Lestrad said, following a trail of blood that leaded to the bathroom._

_"Or dead." Steve said, looking at all the blood and the shards of glass on the bed. "Now, we have two missing persons, John and Stephen. Who was here? And where is he now? Or his body?" He asked._

_"The bike outside belongs to Stephen." Sherlock said, kneeling beside the bed to take a look on the detective books that were on the floor. They had probably fallen from the bedside table._

_"But this house belongs to him, doesn't it? So, the bike being here doesn't mean anything. He could keep it here to make quick trips to the village. It doesn't mean all this blood belongs to him." Lestrad conjectured._

_"It's a Harley Davidson. I doubt he would keep it here just for quick trips." Sherlock saw a small picture on the floor and he bent down to grab it. It was a passport sized photo, with a woman smiling to the camera._

_"John was here." He said showing the photo to Lestrad. "This photo used to be in his wallet."_

_"It's his sister." Lestrad said, recognizing the woman in the photo._

* * *

With their hands gloved, Sherlock, Lestrad and Steve resumed the searching in the bedroom. Sherlock followed the trail of blood stains that leaded to the bathroom. Inside the bathroom there was more blood on the sink, on the floor, on the toilet. There were some bloodied towels on the floor.

"Oh, my God! Is this all John's blood?" Lestrad said sorrowfully, from his spot on the bathroom door.

"Hopefully." Sherlock said from inside the bathroom.

"What?" Lestrad asked in disbelief.

"Whoever was here tied to the bed, managed to escape. So, he's alive."

"Do you think John is alive?"

"Yes. I don't know if he left his sister's photograph on purpose, or if it fell from his wallet by accident, but he was here, probably handcuffed to the bed. See the scratch marks on the iron headboard?" Sherlock pointed to the scratches. "Only metal could do this kind of marks, like someone trying to break free from handcuffs."

"Or maybe David and Stephen had a kinky kind of relationship." Steve said with a smirk.

Sherlock glared at him and continued, as if he hadn't been interrupted.

"He was here for quite a while, as we can notice by the smell of urine on the bed. But he managed to escape. The blood stains that lead to the bathroom, show us that he managed to break free from the handcuffs and headed to the bathroom, where he probably tried to stop the bleeding. There are bloodied towels on the floor. Then he got out of the house, stepping on his own bloodstains and leaving footprints. There is blood on the handrail. He probably leaned heavily on it in order to get down the stairs. Then, there's blood on the walls and on door handle of the front door, meaning he was leaving the house."

"So, someone hurt him and left him to die?" The officer in command asked, looking at Sherlock curiously.

"We can ask John what happened. He's probably out there somewhere and he needs help. Let's go. We don't have any time to waste. We need to organize a search party." Sherlock said, taking off his gloves and heading to the stairs. Lestrad and Steve hurried to follow him.

* * *

John was slowly waking up from a deep sleep, but he didn't want to get up just yet. He was feeling so warm and comfortable. He felt like he was floating. He just wanted to turn around and drift off to sleep again. He tried to change his position without opening his eyes, turning around to lie on his side, but his wrists were tied to the bed and he didn't manage. Panic began to surface and he forced himself to open his eyes, while trying to release his hands from whatever that was holding them.

"It's OK! Calm down! You are safe now. Stop or you're going to open your stitches!" He felt a pair of soothing hands on his shoulders, holding him in place. He looked up at the person holding him. Sherlock was looking back at him.

"I'm not in the..." He started to ask and trailed off, his voice too raspy.

"No. You escaped. You are in a hospital."

"Oh, thanks God!" John sighed, relieved. He looked at his arms, which were tied to the sides of the bed, by fabric limbs restraints, just above his bandaged wrists. In fact, one of his wrists was in a splint. He tried to move them to no avail. Then he looked at Sherlock, inquisitive.

"They had to tie you down to the bed because you wouldn't stop moving and dislodging your IV. Here. I'll release you." Sherlock opened the straps, releasing one of John's arms, and then he walked around the bed to release his other arm.

"Do you remember what happened?" Sherlock asked, while pouring a glass of water from a bottle on the bedside table.

John thought for awhile, trying to remember. "Yes. I think I remember. I was walking in a deserted road at night. A car approached slowly. I asked for help. That's the last thing I remember." John answered, lifting the head of the electric hospital bed, raising to a sitting position and picking up the glass of water with his less injured hand.

"They brought you here, the couple who's found you. We had been looking for you. Lestrad and I. We went to David's cottage, but by the time we got there, you were already gone. We decided to search the roads and to check all the hospitals nearby. It turned out you were here all the time."

John looked at his wrists, checking the damage. Both his wrists were bandaged. He had probably sprained or dislodged his right thumb, as he could deduce from the spica splint on his right arm. The metal handcuffs that were attached to his wrist earlier, were gone. His hands were badly scratched. He touched the wound on his head and noticed that it had been bandaged too. He wondered if he was on pain killers, since he wasn't feeling any pain.

He was attached to an IV, with a Ringers Lactate solution, and probably some kind of medication to increase his blood pressure, the standard treatment for hypovolemia caused by blood lost. His finger was attached to an oxymeter and he could see on the monitor that his O2 saturation was a little lower than standard, while his heart rate was a little faster, both symptoms of the blood lost he'd endured. He was also feeling a little dizzy, but despite all of this, he was happy. He was happy for being alive. He was happy that he managed to escape. And he was happy to see Sherlock again. But Sherlock didn't seem happy.

"You did it yourself, didn't you?" Sherlock asked with a sad look on his face, looking at John's wrists.

"Wait! Do you think I tried to kill myself?" John asked surprised.

"Of course not!" Sherlock said, indignantly. "You would never do such a thing. You cut your wrists while trying to release them from the handcuffs. Probably the blood worked as a lubricant. That's how you managed to break free."

"You're right as always. Abelia's brother handcuffed me to the bed. I followed Abelia to the cottage using her own laptop. When I got there, her brother Jimmy hit me on the head with a stick and handcuffed me to the bed. Then they left the house." John said and paused to take a sip of his water.

"I was there for a long time, alone, with nobody to hear my screams, and I thought I was going to die. I was hungry and thirsty. I was literally going crazy. So crazy that I wanted them to come back, even if it was just to kill me. But they never came back. I was considering cutting my hand off in order to break free from the handcuffs. So I kicked up the window, to break it. It wasn't easy. It took me so many attempts that I almost gave up. But it worked, eventually, and I managed to pick up a shard of glass and cut one of my wrists. The left wrist, because I'm right-handed and I didn't want to injure my right hand." John said, looking at the splint on his right arm.

"It turned out that it wasn't necessary to cut my hand off." John said jokingly. "I wouldn't manage to do that with just a shard of glass, anyway. But as you said, the blood worked like a lubricant. The only thing was that I had cut the wrong wrist. I noticed that the bones in my left hand are slightly more prominent than the right hand and I didn't manage to squeeze it enough, so I had to cut my right wrist as well."

"Why didn't you use the blood from your left wrist?" Sherlock pulled the plastic chair near the bed and sat down.

"Jimmy handcuffed one of my wrists. Then he passed the handcuff through three of the iron rods of the headboard and attached the other end to my other wrist. I couldn't join my hands. Even to cut my wrists it was difficult. I had to find the right size of glass. The whole process took me hours and I lost a lot of blood, but it worked. I managed to release my right hand. Then I stopped the bleeding as best I could, in the bathroom."

"Then you went downstairs, holding the handrail and the walls." Sherlock added.

"I've made a mess, didn't I? I was so dizzy from the lack of food and the blood lost that I had to go down the stairs and into the kitchen holding the walls for support. Thankfully I've found some toast and jelly on the kitchen. The best I've eaten in my entire life!"

"Stephen was there. Did you see him? Did you see his Harley Davidson outside?"

"Yes, I heard him. They wanted something from him and Abelia took him somewhere. I saw his motorcycle outside and I wanted to use it to get out of there. But I couldn't find the key. Besides, it had a security system installed. I needed the key fob in order to disarm the system, to be able to start the ignition, and it was probably with Stephen.

They stopped talking when a middle aged nurse entered the room to check John's IV and greeted him in a very cheerful way. She told him she was glad he was awake and that she was going to call the doctor. After she left, John resumed his story.

"Since I couldn't use the bike, I decided to walk. I picked up some water bottles on the fridge and a broomstick for support and went down the unpaved road. I was relying on finding someone on the way, but I walked for hours and I didn't come across anybody. No cars, no houses, nothing on the way but trees until I got to the main road. I left the cottage in the morning, so it wasn't dark yet, but I had to walk very slowly. I had to stop so many times to rest. The blood lost made me really tired. So, when the night fell, I was in the midway to main road without a lantern. Sometimes, the clouds covered the moon and it got pitch black. I couldn't see an inch beyond my nose. It slowed me down even more. I fell sometimes. I lost the broomstick. But I knew I would get there. I just knew it. And I was so happy when I finally get on the highway." John said with a small smile, but Sherlock remained with a sad face.

"What?" Everything was OK now. Why was Sherlock so sad?

"You are a brave man, John. A strong and brave man and I'm honored to be your friend."

That surprised him. "Wow, now I'm flattered! Especially since you don't give compliments to people that easy! But I'm not that brave. I'm just as brave as anyone who would see themselves in a situation where they would have to fight for their lives."

"I failed you."

"No, you don't! You've found the cottage!"

"I knew there was something odd about Abelia. And I sent you there nevertheless."

"What happened was not your fault." Now was John's face that clouded over. "Where is she, by the way?" John asked with an undecipherable look on his face.

"She is in this same hospital."

"What?"

"She told the police that she was kidnapped by Stephen and that he kept her in a cabin not far from here."

"That's bullshit!"

"Yes, we know. We already have evidences against her story and Lestrad was going to arrested them. They kidnapped Stephen. They needed him to access the vault where David kept gold to ensure Stephen's future in case of his death. Now the money is gone and Jimmy is probably going to kill Stephen."

"Lestrad didn't arrest them?"

"When the officers arrived to make the arrest, Jimmy wasn't here anymore. We think he went back to London to finish the job. That's where Stephen was last seen. Lestrad asked the officers to discreetly stand guard outside her room while he went to London to try and find Jimmy. She doesn't know she is going to be arrested yet. If Stephen is still alive, we need to hurry up to find him. I have an idea as how to do that, but I need to talk to Abelia. If at least I wasn't banned from the obstetric yard!"

"Do I even want to know why?" John asked good-naturedly.

"I have to find a way to get into her room, but the nurses hate me! As soon as they see me, they call the security! They don't even let me explain!"

"I think I can help you." John said, taking off the IV from his arm and the oxymeter from his finger.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked worried.

"I'm a doctor. I know how to talk to the nurses. I'm not surprised that they don't want to talk to you. You're rude. You have to be gentle and kind with them! They already have to endure a lot on their job."

"John, wait! You can't do it! You've lost a lot of blood!" Sherlock got up and approached the bed.

"I know what I'm doing." John said, getting up from the bed. As soon as he set foot on the floor, everything started to spin around him and he quickly grabbed the bed rail, so he wouldn't fall.

"John, please. Go back to bed. You are not OK." Sherlock said, helping him to stand.

"We need to find out if Stephen is still alive, don't we?" He said, steadying himself and walking slowly around the room, supported by Sherlock, and with his head low, waiting for his blood pressure to stabilize.

"Where are my clothes?" He asked when the room stopped spinning.

"I threw them away. They were filthy!"

"What I'm going to wear? I can't walk around on this hospital gown!"

"I don't know, John! I didn't think you would be walking around anytime soon!"

"OK. I'll borrow your coat, then. It is long enough to not look so weird." John picked Shelock's long coat from a chair and put it on, closing the buttons and heading to the door.

"Are you coming with me or I'll have to go looking for her room all by myself?" He said leaving the bedroom.

Sherlock run after him.

* * *

Abelia was on her bed, reading a newspaper, while the TV was showing some talk show. She was alone when John entered the room followed by Sherlock. She raised her head from the magazine, to see who had entered, and gaped.

John didn't say anything. The words seemed to have left his mind. But his eyes spoke for him. And Abelia understood what he was thinking. John also understood that look on Abelia's face. It was an "Oh, shit!" kind of look. But she quickly dissembled and the look changed to something like "Oh, thanks God you are OK!"

"John?" She asked. "I can't believe you are here! Are you OK?"

John noticed she had a black eye and some bruises, but she still was beautiful as hell. Her long brown hair was falling down her shoulders, her bright green eyes, now looking innocent. Her hand always stroking her belly, absentmindedly.

"Oh, yes I'm fine. Great, really. No thanks to you, though." John said calmly, while Sherlock walked around the room, observing every detail, looking for something that could lead to Jimmy's whereabouts.

"John, I know what you're thinking, but if you let me explain..." She started, but he cut her off.

"Explain what? Explain why you and your brother left me there to die?"

"No, John! We didn't! My brother has some angry issues and he acted out of his mind! I'd come back for you, but Stephen... He took me to a cabin and..."

"Oh, please, Abelia, stop!" Sherlock said impatient. "Spare us from your lack of creativity. Again with the kidnapping story? You and your brother are so amateur that the evidences you left behind will make the life of any prosecutor much easier. We have enough to lock you both for quite some time. So, if I were you I'd start telling the truth."

Abelia stared at Sherlock wide-eyed.

"I'm so sorry! I never meant for any of this to happen!" Abelia said in a little voice. "John, you have to believe me! I didn't mean to hurt you!"

"Yes, I know you didn't mean for me to follow you. But I did. I was worried. You are pregnant, for God's sake! Why did you do that, anyway? You did it out of revenge? For the money? Why?"

"John, I... " She started explain but John's enraged voice cut her off again.

"You know what? It doesn't matter. Save your explanations to the judge. I just want to know where Stephen is. And your brother."

"John, please, let me explain!" Abelia said as tears started rolling down her face. "John, listen to me, please. It's not what you think! I never wanted to hurt anyone! When Mrs. Anderson introduced me to her son, she told me he was a very lonely guy and she wanted him to find a good woman, who would love him, marry him and have his children. I dreamed about having a traditional family, John, because I was raised in a very weird family. My uncle was an alcoholic and an abuser. I lived alone with him for years, because everybody left me!"

John rolled his eyes. "I don't want to know any of this. Where is Stephen?" He asked angrily.

"John, please, let me finish! You have to understand why I did this. David was my dream coming true. He was so beautiful and kind. He made me feel like I mattered. When we started dating, everything was so perfect! He liked me and he pampered me. We had fun together. But then, after awhile he changed. He became distant. He started skipping dates to stay till late at work. I started suspect Samantha was hitting on him. And I thought Stephen was trying to get them together, since he's her best friend."

John was about to interrupt her again, but Sherlock put his hand on John's shoulder silencing him.

"I called my brother, who was living in United States, and asked him for some advice. He told me if I wanted a family with David I should get pregnant. But it wasn't that easy. David was a gentleman and son of a very religious mother. He didn't want to have sex just yet. He wanted to wait until he was certain we were really meant for each other. I should have known then!" Abelia picked up a tissue from her bedside table and wiped her tears.

"I managed to get pregnant, although I had to get him drunk first. I also started to spy on him. I snooped through his things to find some evidence against Samantha. I wanted to kick her out of the office and I needed proofs on her interest on David. His laptop had a password. So I hid a camera on his bedroom to record him entering the password. Then I could access his computer when he wasn't there. John, you have no idea how I felt when I saw those photos!"

"That's the reason you killed him? You were ashamed that your boyfriend would leave you for another man?" Sherlock asked.

"I didn't kill him! I loved him! He's the father of my baby! You have to believe me! It was an accident!" She looked from John to Sherlock and back to John. "I just wanted Stephen out of his life, and I asked Jimmy to help me. Jimmy had a plan. After we had read his e-mails we learned that David was very conflicted about his homosexuality. Jimmy thought he could make him leave Stephen just by threatening him. So, he started to send homophobic messages threatening David's life. He even called him fag on the messages.

"Wait, nobody said the messages were homophobic." Sherlock said, approaching the bed.

"That's because David didn't tell anyone. I was there when he told his parents about the threats. He omitted all the homophobic parts, of course. I don't believe he told Stephen or Samantha, either. He had problems to deal with this kind of thing and we used it against him. I regret it now, but then I was so hurt!"

"OK, so Jimmy sent the messages." Sherlock continued.

"Yes, and he attacked him on the street once. He said he did that to give the story more credibility. But he didn't hurt him that bad. And he could have done it, if he wanted."

John looked at her disbelievingly. "Oh, that's OK, then! He didn't want to hurt him that bad." He said ironically.

"But David started to suspect that Ronald Miller, from R. Miller Components, was the one responsible for the threats. Why, if the contents of the messages were homophobic?" Sherlock asked.

"We were surprised when David blamed him, but then we've found out, in one of David's e-mails, that the guy, Miller, caught Stephen and David kissing in his office some time ago. He didn't tell anyone, but when David had to end his contract, he was so mad that he called him names, including homophobic insults. So David was sure it was him who sent the messages."

"So David hides and begins to investigate. Somehow he manages to acquit Miller. But he is still feeling threatened. He's being followed. So he decides to meet me. And Jimmy kills him, before he can reach me."

"Jimmy killed David in self defense! David was armed and Jimmy didn't have a gun with him. Unfortunately it was our own fault, because we made him think someone was trying to kill him. So, when he saw Jimmy, he recognized him from the attack and tried to kill him. David only defended himself."

"OK, so then you decided to blame Stephen for David's murder.

"We didn't know what to do! I was so scared! It was Jimmy's idea! I was so angry with Stephen that I agreed. Jimmy told me that Stephen was going to earn a lot of David's money. It wasn't fair! I'm the one who's carrying his son!" Fresh tears began to fall again. "I'm not a bad person, John! You've got to believe me! My only mistake was that I've made a lot of bad decisions, but I'm so, so sorry!"

"Where is him?" John said undisturbed.

"I don't know. He went to London a couple of hours ago."

"Is Stephen still alive?"

"Yes! He's not going to do anything to him, I swear!"

"Where is Jimmy keeping him?"

"I don't know! Jimmy didn't tell me. He doesn't want me to worry about it. He told me he would take care of everything."

"Let's go John." Sherlock pulled John by his arm, heading to the door. "She doesn't know where Stephen is."

"What? We can't leave!" John said trying to release his arm from Sherlock's grip. "You forged your kidnapping. You lied. And I think you know where they are." He said to Abelia who was crying harder now.

"Let's go!" Sherlock said firmly, leaving the bedroom and taking John with him. Then he closed the door behind them.

* * *

"I can't believe..." John started to protest outside Abelia's bedroom, but he was stopped by Sherlock's hand on his mouth.

"Shhh!" He said, while he put his ear to the door to listen to Abelia on the other side.

After a little while, she started talking to someone on her cell phone.

"It's her brother?" John whispered.

"I think so." Sherlock whispered back.

"But we can't hear what she's saying from here!"

"We don't need to know what they are talking about. Call agent Todd. Tell her we need to locate a cell phone, now." Sherlock picked up his cell phone from his coat pocket, which was now dressing his best friend, and handed it to John, who immediately started to call the Scotland Yard agent.

Meanwhile, Sherlock entered Abelia's bedroom and quickly walked to the now scared woman, taking her phone from her hand and finishing the call. He looked at the last number called and spelled it to John, who was at the door. Then he quickly texted "Can't talk right now. Someone is here. Call you later." And pressed 'Send'.

"I think I need to borrow your cell phone." He said to a gaping Abelia and headed back to the door. "Oh, and in case you are thinking about leaving the hospital, or trying to contact your brother from a payphone, you should know there are two guards outside your room with the only mission of keeping an eye on you." Then he left the room, followed by John, talking on his cell phone.

* * *

Stephen was lying down on a filthy and smelly mattress, with his eyes closed. He was in so much pain, he couldn't move. Even breathing was so painful. Jimmy had left him there a while ago, and he wasn't tied or locked up in this place, but he knew he wouldn't be able to run away. He wasn't alone. He could hear mumbled voices coming from the other rooms of this... What was this place, by the way?

He tried to open his eyes, but everything started to spin. He felt sick and rolled over to throw up on the floor beside the mattress. He didn't have much in his stomach. He didn't remember the last time he had something to eat. He could feel beads of sweat running from his forehead and down his neck. But he was so cold! He was shivering. After a while, he tried to open his eyes again, noticing the dizziness was getting better. He tried to focus his blurred vision on his surroundings now, blinking sometimes to clear it. He was in a big dusty room, with some broken windows, closed with cardboards. It was dark but he could see some broken chairs on the corner, some more old mattresses on the floor, a ripped couch and a... rat? Yes, it was definitely a rat and it was approaching.

With all his willpower he tried to sit, but the pain on his ribs was unbearable and he stopped moving. He saw a moldy blanket on the floor, a few steps from the mattress and he stretched his arm to reach it. With slow and labored moves he covered himself from head to toe with the blanket, positioned himself in a less painful position and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

**Last chapter: **Sherlock has to make a hard decision: catch a murderer and let someone die? Or save a life and let a bad guy, who can kill again, escape?


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes: **Hello everybody! This is last chapter. Next week I'll post an epilogue. Sorry for the mistakes. I didn't have time to review this chapter. So, please if you see something wrong, tell me, OK? Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy!

Not betaed. All errors are mine. But if you see something wrong, you can tell me so I can fix it on the next update.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock.

**Warning: **Graphic description of violence and drug use.

* * *

**Chapter 12**

Stephen had lost track of time. He had been in and out of sleep for quite some time and he didn't remember when Jimmy had left him in that place. He was in the same seedy old mattress, in the same decadent room, but it was day now. Light beams passed through the broken windows and between the cardboards, into the shadowy and dusty room. Stephen was awakened by the noises coming from the other rooms in the building. Someone was shouting. A man was asking for his money. A woman was crying, pleading. He could hear the sound of someone being hit. Slaps across the face, maybe? And more crying.

He could think a little bit clearer now. The fog messing up his senses had almost gone, although he was still in pain and shivering with cold. He tried to remember what had happened to him. He was deceived by Abelia and her brother. They were accusing him of David's murder and Abelia's kidnap. And they wanted the money David had left for him. God! He didn't even know David had left him that amount of gold!

But Jimmy didn't believe him. He tortured him, trying to make him say where the key to his safe box in the vault was. Stephen endured all the beatings with his head held high and he didn't told anything. He was so angry! Abelia and her brother killed David. And they ended David's life just for the money. They destroyed his and the Anderson's lives for nothing. While he was being tortured all he could think, all he wanted was revenge. He wanted to cause the same pain in those two psychos. That was what gave him strength to withstand the assault.

When Jimmy finally left him alone in the cabin, tied to a wooden beam, Stephen worked hard trying to escape. He had a purpose. He wanted those two in jail, even if he had to die in the process. So, when a beautiful redhead girl, who was camping in the woods, found him and tried to help him, he almost didn't believe his luck. But she was so kind, and nice that, when she asked what had happened, he told her everything. He trusted her. And she was as evil as the two siblings. All his hopes were shattered when Jimmy came back to the cabin after a while and they kissed in front of him. It turned out that she was Jimmy's girlfriend and all she wanted was to confirm he really didn't know about the key.

They decided to take him back to London, after burning the cabin to the ground. In London he was kept in the basement of what seemed to be a bar. Jimmy and the redhead girl left him alone for days. A blond and short man would descend to the basement once a day to bring him some water and a sandwich. The only words that he ever spoke were "Don't tell Jimmy." Other than that, he was always silent and never answered Stephen's questions or his pleadings to let him go. One day, Jimmy returned and brought his cell phone with him.

"A friend of yours is trying to call you." He had said. "Now listen very carefully. You are going to return his call. You are going to tell him you are OK, and you are going to ask him where the key to the vault is. Make it brief and don't try anything funny. If you say something I don't like, I'll kill you. Then I'll kill your best friend Samantha."

Stephen did as he was told. He didn't want Samantha to get hurt. He found out where David kept the key and he used it to access his box in the vault and get the gold, while Jimmy waited for him outside. Now Jimmy had the gold and he had no use for him anymore. Jimmy had brought him to this place after they left the bank. He punched him repeatedly until he passed out and then he was gone.

Stephen had given up all hope of being rescued. He had tried to ask for help. He had tried to call the people he could hear from the other rooms, but nobody came. The only door of the room, which led to what seemed to be a corridor, was closed, but it was broken and he would be able to run away, if he could walk. But his leg was broken and the door was so far from him! He didn't want to fight anymore. He was exhausted. Abelia and Jimmy had won. David was dead and his life didn't have any meaning. All he wanted now was to close his eyes and never open them again.

With his trembling hands, he wrapped himself in the moldy blanket and closed his eyes. He started to remember David. He saw him as if it was a movie passing before his eyes. He went back to the time when they were happy together. He saw the good moments they shared. He saw his beautiful David, with his bright blue eyes and his passionate personality.

He remembered how David would name his cameras and treat them as if they had a personality of their own. How he would explain him that Felicity should only be used to take happy and bright pictures, while Spooky should be used to take pictures in rainy, gloomy days. He remembered how he used to call him his sad puppy and give him gifts in order to make up for keeping their love a secret. But despite the secrecy of their relationship, they were so happy! David was so brilliant and alive. If it was him in this situation, he wouldn't give up. He would use the knowledge he'd got from his detective books to find a way to escape. Or he would die fighting.

And David wouldn't want him to give up either, that's for sure. Stephen didn't know a thing about detective books and he wasn't as strong as David, but he could at least try to escape. He could try to escape for David.

He opened his eyes and looked at the door. It was about fifteen steps from his mattress to the door, and God knows how many steps after that, to the exit. He would have to take one step at a time. Lying on his back, in order to not injure his ribs further, he used his good leg to impulse himself and slide out of the mattress, heading to the door. The pain was too much for him to handle. So he stopped, breathing through the pain for a few minutes, and then he began again. He kept going like this, slowly sliding his way to the door. The people on the other rooms were quiet now. He could feel a cool breeze coming from the broken door on his sweaty forehead.

Halfway to the door, Stephen was exhausted, soaked in sweat, breathing with difficult and in severe pain. He stopped and let his head fall back on the floor. Tears began to fall. "I can't David! I'm sorry!" He was crying now. The world began to spin around him and his vision began to blur again. It was so much easy to just give up! He closed his eyes and saw David again. It was another memory, as vivid as the previous one.

_They were in college and they had just met. He was running in the athletics track, while David was in the bleachers watching him. The only sports he ever liked were those involving motor, like motocross and car racing. So, why had he agreed to this? His goal was to run 5000 m, but he knew he'd never manage to cross the finish line. And to make things worst he was making a fool of himself in front of a very cute guy he had just met, but whom he already considered as a friend. He stopped two laps from finish, out of breath, hands on his knees and feeling like a looser. David was on his side in a heartbeat, handing him a bottle of water._

_"Are you all right?" David asked._

_"I ... think... my pride... is hurt." He said, still out of breath._

_"Come on let's sit down."_

_They sat down on the bottom row, in a comfortable silence, looking at the other students training, while Stephen's heart rate slowly returned to its standard rhythm._

_"I can't run this race."_

_"Why you are so worried? It's just a fundraising running! It's not like you have to win the first place." David said, amused._

_"But I'll be using the college shirt. I can't be a shame to my school or embarrass my friends!"_

_David looked at him thoughtfully. "I know what to do to help you. Do you trust me?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"So, come on, let's go."_

_And that was how David made him run up and down the bleachers until his legs were burning and he was begging to stop. But David didn't let him stop. He kept screaming at him._

_"You can do it! Go, Stephen! Just a few more steps! Don't give up! You know what is your problem? You don't believe in yourself. You are the only obstacle keeping you from winning. Believe, Stephen! You can do it!"_

Stephen opened his eyes. He could hear David's voice in his head as if he was there with him.

"Don't give up! You can do it!"

He turned his head and looked at the door. "Just seven more steps. I can do it." He took a few deep breaths and used his good leg to impulse himself again, sliding towards the door. He kept going, pausing sometimes to breathe, but not giving up this time.

He was almost there, when he heard the voice again. The same man who was asking for his money earlier. He was talking to someone outside and Stephen could hear two pairs of steps in the corridor. He debated with himself if he should ask for help. Now they would definitely hear him, since he was almost at the door. He decided against it and waited until the steps would be gone, looking through the broken part of the door, at the corridor.

Stephen saw when a pair of shoes stopped by the door, while the other pair continued down the corridor. The door opened and he looked up at the person who had just entered the room. It was Jimmy.

* * *

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked John, who was in the passenger seat, taking the splint off his hand.

"I just want to take a look in my hand. It's OK. Don't worry. I know what I'm doing." John said, while he took a look on his swollen and painful thumb.

"This was a bad idea. You should have stayed at the hospital."

"No way in hell! I stayed in a bed for far too long. I think I'm going to sleep on the couch for now on."

"You are not even wearing trousers! This is weird."

"Says the man who entered the Buckingham palace naked."

John, carefully put the splint back on his hand and closed the Velcro straps, immobilizing his thumb. Then he felt Sherlock's cell phone vibrating on his pocket. He quickly picked it up and saw it was another text from Lestrad.

**Lestrad: **He's just left the bar. He is in Abelia's car. We're following him.

"Lestrad said Jimmy has left the bar." John informed Sherlock, who was speeding down the highway, heading to London.

The Scotland Yard was monitoring Jimmy's cell phone and Lestrad was sending text messages with Jimmy's movements. He had also sent two of his men to discreetly follow him around the city, but they weren't allowed to approach him until they find out where he was keeping Stephen. Meanwhile, Lestrad was getting a team ready to make the arrest.

"He's been to a lot of places, since we start tracking his phone, when we left the hospital. None of them seems to be the place where he's keeping Stephen. Don't you think maybe Stephen is already dead?" John asked, a little disheartened.

"You weren't dead." Sherlock answered simply.

Another cell phone started to vibrate. They looked at each other. It was Abelia's cell phone. Sherlock picked it up from his pocket and passed it to John, who read the text.

**Jimmy:** Can you talk now?

"Answer him with caution or he'll notice it's not her. She likes to write correctly and she uses appropriate punctuation on her texts." Sherlock said.

"OK."

**Abelia:** I can't talk now.

**Jimmy:** OK. I already took care of the money and I talked to the Andersons about your release from the hospital. They're going to pick you up tomorrow, OK? Don't worry. Now I'm going tie up some loose ends. Call me when you are alone.

"How far we are from London?" John asked.

"We are almost there."

* * *

"Are you going somewhere?" Jimmy asked from the door.

And just like that all hope of escaping vanished. He felt Jimmy grab him by the collar of his shirt, choking him, and drag him all the way back to the mattress, where he tossed him.

"I don't have time to deal with you anymore." Jimmy said. "Abelia is about to be released from the hospital and I have a plane to catch. I'm going back to the States, you know?" He sat down on the mattress and pulled Stephen to his lap. Stephen grunted in pain.

Jimmy picked up a syringe, a vial and a rubber band from his pocket. "You know how this place is called? People call this building 'The Death Condo'. People die from overdose here every other day. The police try to remove the drug addicts and drug dealers but they always come back." Stephen tried to resist when he felt his arm being firmly held and the rubber band being tied around his biceps. "It's really a problem to this nice neighborhood." Stephen felt a sting on his arm and, a few seconds later, he felt like he was floating. The excruciating pain he was feeling was subsiding, his worries were gone. He stopped fighting. He looked up at Jimmy who was smiling at him. "It's good, isn't it? Why do you think people want this stuff so badly?"

Peace. That's what he was feeling.

"Have a nice dream." Was the last thing he heard before closing his eyes.

* * *

Sherlock and John got out of the car and headed to the front entrance of the abandoned building.

"We are not armed." Sherlock observed.

"Should we wait for Lestrad?" John asked, checking once more the address agent Todd had sent to Sherlock's cell phone.

Sherlock took a look on his surroundings. Abelia's car was parked two blocks down the street, to the left. Jimmy didn't want to park in front of the crack house. The men Lestrad had sent to follow Jimmy were inside their car, parked across the street, in front of the building, being everything but discreet.

"We don't have time to waste. Let's go." Sherlock headed to the main door of the decaying building.

John saw a wooden stick on the floor and picked it up with his good hand, as a weapon. They entered the building and walked down a long dark and moist corridor. The exposed wiring suggested there was no electric power in the building. There were about five doors on each side of the corridor. They stopped at the first door, which was open, and looked inside. There were people lying down on several mattress and blankets on the floor, both men and women. Some of them seemed to be just teenagers. All of them as high as a kite. Used syringes and crack pipes could be seen spread all over the floor. No sign of Stephen and Jimmy. They continued down the corridor to the next door. The next room was similar to the previous one, but they saw a drug dealer coming to greet them.

"You two looking for something in particular? I have good stuff here." The man said, approaching.

"We are looking for a man named Jimmy. He is tall, with brown hair, brown eyes, probably on his thirties. Usually uses military boots and a black hood. Have you seen him?" John asked from the door.

"I'm sorry! I don't know anybody with that description." The man said and Sherlock looked at him skeptically. He was about to say something when they saw movement on the end of the corridor. They looked at the last door, where a man had just got out and was standing there looking surprised. It was Jimmy. As soon as he saw them, he entered the room again and closed the door behind him. Sherlock and John run down the corridor to the last door, and Sherlock kicked down the broken door. They stopped at the door frame. Jimmy was standing on a filthy mattress with Stephen lying down unconscious on his feet. Jimmy had one of his military boots placed on Stephen's throat.

"One more step and I'll break his neck."

"Is he even alive?" Sherlock asked, noticing all the bruises on Stephen's face.

"Not for much longer." Jimmy looked down at Stephen, pressing his foot further on his neck. There was no reaction.

"He is not armed." John stated.

"Yes, I've noticed. He wouldn't let pass the opportunity of pointing a gun at us, if he was armed."

"I think we can handle him." John said, matter-of-factly, talking to Sherlock as if Jimmy wasn't there.

"I think I'll take him down myself. He can't handle both of us."

"Do you want me to wait outside?"

"No. You can stay and watch."

Jimmy didn't let Sherlock finish, and he was running, then jumping, his foot landing on Sherlock's chest, expulsing all air from his lungs and sending him backwards, until he fell on the ground. Jimmy landed with his feet apart, in what seemed to be a ninja attack position.

Sherlock got up in a heartbeat, his eyes never leaving Jimmy's. He quickly started rolling up his sleeves. Jimmy didn't wait for him to finish and he was attacking again, but this time Sherlock was ready and he deflected from the blow.

John waited until he saw Jimmy's attention was on the fight and he quickly headed to where Stephen was lying, kneeling beside him and looking for his carotid pulse, on his neck. There was no pulse. He saw the vial and syringe on the floor and he lifted Stephen's eyelid, noticing the pinpoint pupils. Moving as fast as he could, John picked up Sherlock's cell phone from his coat and dialed the emergency service. He put the attendant on speaker throwing the cell phone nearby while he examined Stephen.

"I need an ambulance on 62, Greenville Road. It's a crack house." He said aloud while he quickly ripped Stephen's shirt open, to take a look on his thorax. It was severely bruised. "If he has a broken rib I could cause him a pneumothorax by giving him CPR. But if not, he'll have brain damage." He thought to himself. So, as quickly as he could, John took off the splint from his hand, rolled Stephen's body over, so he was lying flat on his back. He tilted his head back to release his airway and gave him two rescue breaths. Then he started the chest compressions.

"I have a cardiopulmonary arrest here, probably caused by an opioid drug. I'm performing CPR." John's wrists and thumb were painful, but he ignored the pain and continued pressing Stephen's chest, counting the compressions to maintain the rhythm. But he needed to make Stephen breathe. Only the chest compression wouldn't help much in this specific case.

The attendant was speaking on the phone, but John only paid attention to what he was doing.

After a few compressions, he started to feel his arms weak. The pain on his thumb and his wrists increased so much that he wasn't managing to press enough. "That's not enough. I need to press deeper and faster." John said frustrated. "He's going to die." He thought. All the statistics about rate of surviving a cardiopulmonary arrest caused by drug overdose passed through John's mind and they weren't good.

"Sherlock!" John cried, looking up at Sherlock, who had managed to pin Jimmy against a wall and was punching his face, finally getting some advantage in the fight.

"Sherlock!" John screamed again. "Please!"

Sherlock paused halfway to another punch, looking at John, who was performing CPR, his wrists bloodied, probably due to the stitches that should have burst open. Sherlock looked back at Jimmy's face. His lower lip was split open and his nose was bleeding profusely, probably broken. Jimmy was looking at him curiously, as if to see if he would dare to leave him escape in order to help John to save Stephen. Sherlock hesitated just for a split second. Then, he was releasing Jimmy's neck and backing away from him. He turned around and approached John, kneeling beside him.

"What do I do?" Sherlock asked, while Jimmy, with a smirk, run away.

"I'm going to stop and you'll take my place. Keep pressing in the same rhythm, OK? Look at how my hands are placed on his chest." Sherlock placed his hands on Stephen's chest as soon as John removed his, and kept pressing in the same rhythm.

"Keep your arms straight. You have to press about two inches."

They kept doing the CPR, alternating the compression and artificial breathing, but Jonh was skeptic. If they didn't administrate the proper treatment soon, Stephen would most certainly die. He wouldn't be able to get to the hospital alive. But they kept going. John looked at the door and saw the drug dealer standing there, as if he wanted to say something.

"What are you doing standing there? Go get some help!" John yelled at him. He knew the ambulance was on its way, and there was nothing the man could do to help, but he got angry to see him standing there watching and doing nothing.

"I have some Naloxone." The man said, picking up a vial from his pocket and showing it to John.

"What?" John looked at the vial, dumbfounded.

"I always carry one with me, just in case. I don't want my clients to die, you know?"

John grabbed the vial and read the label. "A syringe, quick!"

The drug dealer handed John a syringe and John quickly filled it with the standard dose. "Don't stop the compressions!" He yelled, as he noticed Sherlock slowing his pace.

John took off his belt and used it to tie Stephen's upper arm. Then he slowly injected the drug on Stephen's system. "Don't stop the compressions. The drug will stop the effects of the opioid, like the breathing depression, but it will not restart his heart. We need the defibrillator for that."

"He'll be OK?" Sherlock asked.

"Maybe. But he will be in severe pain when the effects of the opioid wear off."

Sherlock continued the compressions while John examined Stephen to see if he would need another dose. After a few more minutes, when John was giving Stephen another shot, the paramedics entered the room with the defibrillator and a breathing support. They demanded Sherlock to leave and started to take care of Stephen, while John talked to them, informing the conditions of the patient and the dose of Naloxone he had administrated.

Sherlock picked up his cell phone from the floor and quickly left the room, walking down the corridor, heading to the street outside. Once there, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, leaning on the wall. He dialed Samantha's number on his cell phone.

"Samantha? We've found him."


	13. Epilogue

**Notes:**Hello everybody! This is the Epilogue as I promised. I really want to thank you all for reading this fanfiction, and for your kind reviews and messages. They really gave me reason to keep posting. It wasn't that easy to write this story. It was like to paint a very detailed picture and then divide it into several pieces of a puzzle. Then jumble the puzzle pieces and solve it to get the picture back again. But I had fun! And I want to do it again! I apologise for all my mistakes, English is not my native language. I hope you enjoy this last part of the story. THANK YOU!

Not betaed. All errors are mine. But if you see something wrong, you can tell me so I can fix it in the next update.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sherlock.

**Warning: **Violence.

* * *

**Epilogue**

"Samantha? We've found him."

Sherlock was talking to Samantha on his cell phone, leaning on the wall outside the building, when he heard the sirens of the police cars approaching. It all happened too fast. He hung up, telling her he would call later. Then he saw when Lestrad's car got there first, followed by several other police cars. He ran to meet Lestrad, who quickly got out of the car and also ran, reaching him midway.

"What happened?" He asked, looking at the ambulance, still parked in front of the building.

"I've found them. Jimmy and Stephen. Jimmy escaped." Sherlock answered, a little out of breath.

"What? That's not possible!" Lestrad said, as several police officers joined them, waiting for instructions.

"I let him escape. I had him, but I let him escape."

"You let a criminal escape? What the hell, Sherlock!"

"I had to help John performing the CPR and Jimmy took the opportunity to get out." He looked from one side of the street to the other.

"Did you see where he went? We need to go after him!" Lestrad asked urgently, but Sherlock was paying him no attention. He was looking at the scene around him, thoughtfully. "The ambulance arrived just minutes later." Sherlock said, turning around and looking at the ambulance. John and the paramedics were still inside with Stephen.

"Sherlock!" Lestrad screamed. "Do you know which way he went?"

"Abelia's car is still parked there." He pointed the car, parked two blocks from the building.

"So, he fled on foot. We need to split up and search the neighborhoods. He shouldn't have gone far."

"Wait! I need to think! Stop talking! I can't concentrate!"

"It's not the time to think! We need to go! If he reaches the subway, we'll never be able to catch him!"

"Should we go, sir?" One of the officers asked, hurriedly.

"SHUT UP! NOBODY GOES ANYWHERE!" Sherlock screamed and everybody fell silent. He didn't leave the building." Sherlock whispered to himself, turning around to look at the building behind him. He looked up at the windows on the higher floor. It was a four floors decrepit building.

"Are you sure?" Lestrad asked.

"Obviously! The men you sent to follow him were right there parked in front of the building, where everyone could see them." Sherlock said, pointing the now empty car, since the two men had left the vehicle and joined them. "Jimmy must have seen them and backed away from the front entrance. Now he's probably hiding inside or looking for another way out."

Sherlock didn't wait for their answer. He just ran back inside. On the end of the corridor, the paramedics were taking Stephen out of the room in a litter. People were peering at the corridor from inside the rooms to catch a glimpse of what was happening. Sherlock headed to the stairs and began to climb it. Lestrad and some of the officers went after him, while a few stayed behind guarding the entrance.

"We need to search every room in the building." Sherlock shouted.

Lestrad gave the order for them to split up in four groups and for each group to search a floor. Sherlock continued climbing the stairs until he got to the rooftop door. He was about to open the door when Lestrad grabbed him by his arm and pulled him back. "You're not armed! We should wait for backup!" He whispered.

"Go first, then. Jimmy is not armed." Sherlock whispered back.

They didn't wait for backup. With his gun ready on his hands, Lestrad slowly opened the door and scanned the rooftop, pointing his gun and carefully stepping outside. The sun was shining brightly and the cool breeze of the morning messed their hair.

The rooftop was a mess of garbage and debris, full of places to hide.

"Jimmy! We know you're here. Show yourself! Put your hands behind your head and come out. It's over!" Lestrad shouted, but they couldn't see any sign of him.

Lestrad slowly walked around the pieces of broken furniture and construction debris, carefully looking for Jimmy. Sherlock examined the scene from his spot, trying to figure out the best hiding place for Jimmy. He could see used condoms, empty bottles and syringes all over the place.

He didn't even know what set him off, if it was a very low sound of something scratching or if it was a tiny shadow moving from its place. But when Lestrad passed a bunch of garbage bags Sherlock screamed.

"Lestrad!"

Lestrad stopped and quickly turned around, but he wasn't fast enough. An iron bar appeared out of nowhere and hit him straight on his hands. His gun fell to the floor and he fell on his knees, grunting from the pain. Jimmy quickly got up from the middle of the garbage bags and kicked him on the ribs with his military boots. Lestrad fell on the ground in a fetal position. Jimmy saw the gun a few feet away from him, but before he could give a step on its direction, Sherlock threw himself at him taking him down. They fought on the ground, punching and kicking, far too close to the edge for it to be safe.

"Stop or I'll shoot!" Lestrad said panting, holding his gun with his left hand, while his right hand rested limp on his lap.

They stopped the fight and Jimmy bloodied face grimaced when he saw police officers running through the rooftop door. Sherlock roughly pushed him face first to the ground, pulling his hands behind his back and handcuffing him with the handcuffs one of the officers handed him.

It was over.

* * *

"Oh, my God! What an arrogant, self-centered, narcissist bastard!" Lestrad yelled while pouring himself a cup of coffee from the coffee machine in the break room, later that day. His right hand was bandaged and hanging in a sling. "In all my years of Scotland Yard I've never had to deal with such a difficult criminal like him!" He said, sitting down in front of Sherlock, who was drinking his own cup of coffee, looking at the rainy night through the window.

"Did he confess the murder?" He asked.

"No. Of course not! He has this superior way of talking to people. He treats everybody like scumbags. We ask him question after question and we rub evidences right in his face and he still denies everything." Lestrad took a sip of his coffee trying to calm himself.

"He'll never confess, you know that. He is a narcissist. He does what he wants without a second thought about consequences or people he may hurt. All he cares is to preserve his own image. What about Abelia? Did she tell anything? May I talk to her?"

"You know I can't allow you to talk to her. I can loose my job if my boss knows you are here…" Lestrad sighed tiredly. "Anyway, Abelia was brought from the hospital and she's being questioned in another room right now. She's being more cooperative, although she's also not telling all the truth. She says that David's death was an accident."

"You said you had some good news."

"Oh, yes. Jimmy is suspected of committing several crimes, right? Assault, kidnapping and murder? These can't be his first crimes. So I decided to call the FBI and see if they had something for me, and guess what? His name was mentioned in an investigation they were conducting. Jimmy had business with the chief of a local organized crime group. They told me that Jimmy owed them money and he was being threatened."

"Also, we've found Abelia's laptop. The same laptop John used to follow her to David's cottage. She was spying on David's phone through Mspy. I know David wasn't using his cell phone to make calls, but even if he turned it on just for a moment, they would know where he was."

"So, this is what probably happened." Sherlock stood up and started pacing. "David is a closeted gay and he is in a secret relationship with Stephen. He starts dating Abelia in order to please his sick mother. Abelia wants to marry David, so she gets pregnant. When she learns that David is seeing someone else, she starts to spy on him. She bugs his cell phone and she finds out his laptop password. She reads his e-mails and sees his pictures, finding out about his relationship with Stephen. She also finds out that he has no intention of marrying her and that David is keeping a vault where he has been storing gold for Stephen." Sherlock looked at Lestrad who nodded.

"She tells her brother everything and asks for his help." Sherlock continued, still pacing. "Jimmy is in desperate need of money and he sees an opportunity. He flies from New York to London and starts sending homophobic threats to David. David's worst nightmare is being outed. So, he hides and tries to find out who is threatening him, all by himself. He doesn't want to involve the police. He would have to tell them the content of the threats, and he doesn't tell anyone that they were homophobic threats. Since he reads a lot of detective books and sees a lot of forensic documentaries, he thinks he can track down his main suspect, the man who once saw him kissing Stephen and with whom he has to break a contract. He starts to take a lot of precautions in order to not being found. He stops using credit cards and starts paying everything in cash."

"This explains why he had 2.500 pounds in his pocket." Lestrad added.

"He stops taking cabs and starts walking around by foot."

"That's why his loafers were too used."

"But whoever is threatening him manages to find him and the threats continue. He's being followed by the same hooded man who attacked him once. I think Jimmy likes it. He likes this mouse and cat game. He plays with David before he attacks him, like a cat do with its pray." Sherlock sat down again in front of Lestrad and took a sip of his coffee, grimacing, since it was already cold.

"David decides to find a real detective. He is scared now. He calls Stephen and says he's going to meet me. I'm just guessing now, but I think Jimmy knows where David is hiding. David probably turned on his cell phone in his hotel room and they managed to track him. Jimmy is now keeping a close eye on him. So, when David goes to Baker Street, Jimmy follows him. He's probably not even thinking about killing him right there, but when he sees David hiding in the shadows waiting, probably looking at my door and my windows, all that Jimmy needs to do is pick up his cell phone and quickly search on the internet '221B Baker Street' and find out who David is planning to meet."

"And he can't let him meet the best detective in all UK, so he kills him with his own gun." Lestrad concludes.

"Exactly."

"But why David carried a gun with a silencer? He was not a criminal. He was just using his gun for protection."

"For the same reason he picked up his cigarette butts from the floor, the same reason he wasn't carrying his ID, the same reason he was walking instead of taking cabs."

"And what reason is this?"

"He read too much detective books, that's all. He was a scared man playing detective. And he used all the knowledge he got from the books to avoid being found." Sherlock looked at Lestrad's puzzled face.

"He knows that cigarette butts can be a way to find out a stalker who has been watching someone's house for a long time, so he picks up his cigarette butts and hides them in his pocket. He wants to contact me but he doesn't want to get any attention. So he waits until everybody is probably sleeping, the coffee shop is closed and the street is deserted. Of course he wouldn't knock on my door at that time of the night. It'd attract too much attention, especially if I was asleep and he had to wake me up to answer the door. He would probably wake up the neighbors. So he is planning to open my door by using his gun with the silencer. But he doesn't go that far."

"Jimmy kills him first." Lestrad concluded.

"And now he needs Stephen to access the vault. Again I'm just guessing, but I think Abelia didn't want David to get hurt. I believe her when she says all she wanted was a family. Don't get me wrong, I don't think she's innocent. She wanted Stephen out of her way and she asked her brother to help her. They were together but they wanted different things. Abelia wanted David. Jimmy wanted the money. Abelia said that David's death was an accident. Maybe Jimmy had to convince his sister it was an accident, otherwise she wouldn't keep cooperating. He manipulates people to get what he wants." Sherlock another sip of his cold coffee.

"So they decided to forge her kidnap and blame it on Stephen." Lestrad continued. "What they didn't expect was that John would be able to follow her and discover she wasn't in danger. They beat him up and held him hostage. Meanwhile they kidnapped Stephen and used him to access the vault and get the gold. Then they tried to kill him." Lestrad finished with a sigh.

"What are you going to do next?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, first we need to find the gold. Oh, do you remember the redhead girl named Karen? The one who pretended to be camping and find Abelia? We arrested her too. She was so scared! I think we'll manage to get some very interesting information from her. Then, we'll need to talk to John and when he wakes up, we'll need to talk to Stephen. Is he going to be OK? Stephen?" Lestrad asked, concerned.

"I don't know. I didn't manage to talk to John yet. He went to the hospital with Stephen this morning, but I didn't talk to him all day." Sherlock picked up his cell phone from his pocket and saw the time. "It's late. I have to go." He said, getting up and heading to the door.

"Wait, I'm going home too. I'll give you a ride." Lestrad said, getting up and throwing his and Sherlock's empty cups on the trash.

"It's OK, I need to walk." Sherlock said leaving the break room.

"Sherlock!" Lestrad called.

Sherlock poked his head through the open door. "What?"

"Thanks."

* * *

Mrs. Anderson slowly opened the door and entered the hospital bedroom, carefully closing the door behind her, avoiding making any noises. The gloomy, sad room and the annoying beep noises coming from the machines attached to the man in the bed sent shivers down her spine. She hated hospitals. She had spent far too much time getting in and out of hospitals in her youth. Avoiding looking directly at the man, she picked up a plastic chair from the corner and placed it beside the bed, sitting down and putting her expensive Chanel bag on her lap.

She folded her hands and sighed, the stones of her rings gleaming in the dim light. She started to talk to the man, although she knew he probably wasn't listening.

"You know, when David was thirteen he had an acute appendicitis and he had to undergo an emergency surgery. He had to stay in the hospital for two weeks, due to a severe infection, and God, he was so bored!" A small smile graced her face at the memory. "We told him that he just had to pretend he was in his own bedroom; like in some vacations that he would prefer to stay at home instead of going out with friends. Do you know what he told us?" She asked, still not looking at the man lying in the bed. "He told: 'How can I pretend this ugly bedroom is my bedroom? There are no pictures of my friends here! None of my books are here!' So Matt and me went back home and picked up all his photos, some of his books and even some of the posters he had on his bedroom's walls and we took them to the hospital. While he was sleeping, we redecorated the bedroom. And when he woke up... I wish you had been there to see his face! He was so surprised! He stopped complaining and he even started to get better! The infection subsided and he began eating again."

Mrs. Anderson opened her bag, picked up a motorcycle miniature and placed it on the bedside table.

"I went to the office this morning and asked your secretary to pick up some of your photos and decoration objects. The doctors here didn't allow me to bring much, but I think these would do the trick."

Mrs. Anderson picked up a digital photo frame and placed it beside the miniature. It began to display a slideshow of a selection of Stephen's pictures, many of them including David. Then she picked up an iPod, turned it on and searched through the playlist.

"Have you ever heard about music therapy? Samantha and I argued earlier about what kind of music we should play for you. I wanted some classical music. Maybe Mozart or Bach, for their relaxing properties. But Samantha wanted me to play some of your favorite rock and roll music. I don't quite understand how someone would listen willingly to that kind of music. But we managed to get to an agreement when I showed her this."

Mrs. Anderson pressed play on the iPod and "Let it Be" from The Beatles started to play, on the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra version, the beautiful sound of the piano and violins filling the room. She placed the iPod on the bedside table and then she looked at Stephen for the first time since she entered the room. His face was bruised. His left leg was in a cast. His heart rate was being monitored, although the effects of the opioid had subsided and he was breathing on his own. But he had yet to wake up.

"The doctors say you are out of danger. But they don't know if you'll have some brain damage for the lack of oxygen you suffered. They say we need to wait until you wake up so they can evaluate." Mrs. Anderson gently touched Stephen's soft and silky brown hair, brushing it from his closed eyes.

"I can't stop thinking that this is probably my fault. If I had accepted your relationship with my son, he probably would be alive and you wouldn't be here now. Both of you would be happy together. But it was difficult for me to accept. I'm a very religious woman and the Bible says that…" She looked up at Stephen's bruised face and stopped mid-sentence. "Well, it doesn't matter right now. I'm not here to justify myself or talk about my beliefs. I'm here because I owe you an apology. I had no right to interfere in your relationship with David. You were in love and you were good people. Maybe God would just forgive your sin. Or maybe this wasn't even a sin as I thought. Maybe I'm the one who needs forgiveness. What I'm trying to say is that I had no right to interfere in your lives." She took one of his limp hands on hers. "I am really, really sorry." Mrs Anderson swallowed a lump on her throat and her eyes stung with unshed tears.

"I called your parents and told them what happened. They told me they don't have a son anymore. They told me their son died the day he came out as gay. God, I was so angry! How can they treat you like that? I would give everything I own just to have some more time with my David. And their son is right here and they don't even bother coming visit you? But then again, didn't I treat you just the same way? I may have scolded them for doing this to you, but I deserve the same reprimand." Mrs. Anderson picked up a kleenex from her pocket and wiped her tears.

"Well, I have to go now or Samantha is going come here and drag me out of the room by my hair! She is waiting outside and she'll stay with you tonight." Mrs. Anderson slung her bag over her shoulder and got up.

"Just one more thing before I go. I don't want to talk to you about Abelia. You've endured so much already and I'm so ashamed for trusting her. But she's probably going to jail and I think she's carrying my grandchild. I want you to know that I'm going to do everything I can to get the custody of the child. If she has a little decency, she'll allow me to raise my grandchild. David's child. But me and George, we're not that young anymore. We don't have the same energy we used to have when David was little. I think maybe we'll need help, especially when it comes to teach the child how to ride a bike or how to play sports. And I heard you're pretty good at riding bikes." She gave the unmoving man a small smile, picking the plastic chair and placing it back in the corner. Then, she headed to the door.

"Oh, and when you wake up and get better, I expect you to take David's position in the company. We really need a good CEO who knows how to deal with people, both employees and clients. I heard that it is one of your many skills." She said from the door.

Mrs. Anderson took one last look at the unmoving man in the bed and sighed sadly. "I'll come back tomorrow." She said and left the room, leaving Stephen alone.

While she was outside talking to Samantha, nobody saw as Stephen's hand twitched. Nobody was there to see him slowly opening his eyes, confused, worried and searching. He was alone when he suddenly seemed to notice the soothing sound of The Beatles song, coming from an iPod on the bedside table, now singing All You Need is Love. And although there wasn't anybody in the room with him when, with a sigh and feeling safe enough to surrender to the exhaustion of his healing body, he closed his heavy, tired eyes again, he certainly wasn't feeling alone anymore.

* * *

John Watson woke up to the sound of his alarm clock buzzing at half past six in the morning. He groaned, turning around in his bed to silence it. He seriously considered skipping his morning routine today and just staying in bed some more time. He wasn't totally recovered from his last adventure yet. His wrists had been re-stitched and he had his left hand and forearm in a cast, since he managed to break his already injured thumb while performing CPR on Stephen.

As a doctor, he knew he had to rest to give his body time to recover from the considerable blood loss he had endured. So why not just stay in bed all morning? Yes, he probably should just go back to sleep. Jennifer, his new secretary, had asked Dr. Walter to take care of his patients while he was on health leave. So they really didn't need him for anything important. He closed his eyes, pulling the blankets over his head, snuggling into the warm cocoon.

When he was drifting back to sleep, memories of what had happened to him kept coming back like a nightmare. The images of a dark room and bloodied sheets, the feeling of being trapped, handcuffed to the bed's headboard, the feeling of being alone with nobody to hear him, all of this haunted him, keeping him from sleeping. He rolled over in the bed, trying to think of something else, anything else, to no avail. It was useless. He wouldn't manage to sleep. He was considering getting up when a low voice sounded to his left, startling him.

"Are you OK?"

"Oh, God!" He said sitting up and turning around to look at the owner of the voice. "For God's sake, Sherlock! You scared me! How did you get in here? I didn't hear you! And what are you doing standing there staring at me?"

"I brought you breakfast." Sherlock said pointing his desk, where a tray was placed, nicely served with a cup of coffee, tea, milk, cereal, buttered toasts, pancakes and fruits.

John stared at the tray for awhile with his jaw dropped, while Sherlock sat down on his armchair.

"Did you bring me breakfast?" He asked in disbelief.

"Why do you always ask stupid questions?"

"Did you do it yourself?"

"Yes." Sherlock answered, nonchalantly.

John glared at him.

"Well, no. I had help. Actually, Mrs. Hudson did most part. But I bought the milk!"

"I'm not really hungry." John answered with a half-hearted smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Sherlock regarded him with his scrutinizing look and John lowered his eyes staring at his hands on his lap.

"John, I'm really sorry for what you've been through." He finally said.

"I've told you. It was not your fault. I was careless and a bit trustful, that's all."

"You're not OK."

"I'm hurt."

"Hurt?"

John got up from bed and started pacing, holding his casted forearm with his good hand.

"Abelia is a beautiful young woman and she's pregnant. She was scared and vulnerable and she made me believe she was in danger. I was really worried about her and the baby, for Christ sake! And then…" He trailed off. "God! I was so stupid!"

"She betrayed your trust. And now you're feeling hurt." Sherlock said with a grimace. "I can't believe it! You barely knew her! How can you be so..."

"Stop! I don't want to hear you criticizing me again. Just because you are so detached, so cold, it doesn't mean everybody else is."

"You worry too much with other people's problems, John!"

"This is called empathy, Sherlock. It's not a bad thing. You should try it sometime."

"Empathy, sentiment, love. You know what I think about all of this. You are just proving me right." Sherlock said, standing up and heading to the door.

"OK, Mr. 'high-functioning sociopath'. Pretend all you want. I know you have feelings and I know you care."

Sherlock stopped by the door and turned around to face John. "You are right. I care about a very few people in this world. You are my best friend, my only friend, and I care about you. I want to make you feel better, but I just don't know how."

John looked at Sherlock dumbfounded. He knew it was very difficult for him to say something so personal. He smiled.

"Well, this breakfast looks really great. How about you sit here and have breakfast with me? I think this discussion worked up my appetite."

Sherlock smiled and came back to John's bedroom, sitting down on his armchair.

"Do you have any news about Stephen?" John asked, while serving Sherlock some pancakes on a plate.

"Yes, I talked to Samantha yesterday. She said he woke up and he's OK. The doctors said he's going to make a full recovery. He's going to need some physical therapy, though." Sherlock answered, serving himself a cup of tea with some milk.

"We managed to save a life." John said happily.

"We managed to save many lives, John. Jimmy is never going to kill again."

**The end**


End file.
